Mined Mind

Surprise ties to realization binds me to lies and the truth of who I am and where I've been. The slim chance that I might be is whimsicle at best but the rest of the story is told in storey by storey by molding life into what makes sense. Intense. I can't blend the cold oil and water, just watch it pretend to get along. Prince's prints on my soul just hint of stature but not of purpose, not of plan. Not damnation or salvation but salvaging what can be, for whatever will be, sera. Merlin is not pleased by this pattern of discussion, so the percussion must change tempo and timber. The brass should ask the opposite. Three foot strides in the ebb-tide can't subside or I'll be crucified as well. Are you beside yourself as well? It's the way of my Suessesque rhetoric to make sensible nonsense. Thence the mined mind is twice mine and I leave you entwined, or undermined, as you prefer.