The Time Has Come

The time has come to generate the retrospective ambiguities etched in stone perplexing to the underside of the recriminations sliding to the conservative right The dance goes on skittering and sliding along shiny glass floors powered by locomotive puffing into clouds, you gaze into space Dreams of a more envious pastoral speckle intuitions of a well developed humanoid. Beyond your wildest expectations the illusion goes on spitting, sputtering in a steadfast manner driven buy imperfections of days gone bye. You long for the resurrection to circumcise possibilities of a shaft driven turbo turning to and fro stifling transgressions into a tumultuous radiance blinding to the monstrous aftermath of an illustrious stiletto heal.