Those Lowly Entelechies

Impeccant, of non-textual matters one’s covered flesh, and hidden embrasure’ as diffusate primer slips life’s veil, and in agitated pontlevis, cleaves the universe’ reason… “Egads! What sorcery is this?” Holy heart failure, Batman! “Beavis and Butthead”, on Soteriology! or merely, this word wizard’ celebrity; slap my knee, and pass the shinola please would you then consider the following: palliate your lesser selves, or else where silence seethes, your spirit will bleed asunderp; and in the depths of space and time you will forget your moment’ cill so divaricating your soul, until that whisper of your assibilate voice remains in memory’s forever as that sound of death’s last hissing And now to secularize your quarters out per se, a knotted rope and stallions four two palms, a cup and nothing more than, one’s perceived illation with rigorous and self-righteousness’ precipitancy, my will so locates your remaining sang-froid serendipitously and in humaneness casts, this lifeline out to thee for free for you to grasp, of each person placed above all things as nature sings concretism’ simplistic rhythmic wringing “stream of consciousness”, a-flowing upon thought’s eternal thaw while Descartes’ “Substance Dualism” does so battle, against Plato’ “universalia ante res” supernal then, is an ideal’s whim, or Ids whine within one’s thought’s stokehold, as axis bold or love’s bestow, fires the flesh to render that pondering patch of thinking’s wrath awaiting that awakening moment’s bewhisker in essence, life’s xenium given in kind as is the universe’s night skies splendor passing that lending thought, behind a silent chador visualize the context and intent within a compelling and perplexing write to win an idea’s kneel before that “mercy seat” this particular and incomplete entelechy bleeds of questions asked and left unanswered continuously of generations after generations in weeping conscience wistfully fawning in defeat and admitting, to a lowly ponderings musings.