The Happy Asp

Truth is a mouthful of blood -spit upon a Persian rug a kick to the balls in the middle of the sweetest dream karma doesn't stop chewing until the souls licked clean and what of our far off god -that mysterious golden being, stirring hell into our soil since we were mustard seeds. Everyone thinks of offing themselves from time to time usually when we're running low on honey and wine when mad horses trample over our parched field lives. Something brings most back from the brink maybe it's the bouncing star baby sleeping in the crib or the dirty plunger when it finally frees up the sink. You may as well dance because it's more painful to crawl kiss a stranger on the mouth, have yourself a ball but don't bounce the ball off the devil's burning grass or he just may kick down your little white picket fence and light up your happy little a$$.