Spite Spot

 Spitting a Flow

G’day, gods and goddesses!  Lovers, lovers of love, haters of hate, and doers, shakers, movers!  Getting Over and Done, being productive, making a difference,  or something.   Being fruitful and multiplying.   Subtracting submarines.   Adding summers.  Getting older, dying.   Dividing and conquering, like politicians in DC.  Poly-ticks, b.s. about bloodsuckers.  Blood fetish and being lewd.   May the fourth be with you.    May the farce be with you.  May you be forever young.   Or Jung.  Young at Heart, like Yahweh.  No way!  Weh!  Playful.   Toying with people.  The world is a giant toy box,  amusement park, comedy club.  The difference between men and boys is the price of their toys.  The child is father of the man.  Deep down, the stink of the didie, the stench of the shroud.  Heaven-scent.  The smell of Mel in hell.   Astute assonance and fatuous flatulence.  Astronauts say space smells like “walnuts” or “a burnt almond cookie.”    Ozone and omg, in the zone.  Good offense, defense.   Good old days.   Bad new nights.  P-raise the Life or Death.   Petit mort in the a.m.,   I am, amen.   Amun-Ra and Teshara, to share Ra - rah rah, go team.  John Tesh and Cher and the Sun Ra Arkestra.   And Avalokitesvara, goddess of compassion.  Prison sentences, and women’s periods, and Omega.  Video games and the devil's levels.  Cryogenic tiers.  The End.