The pirate architecture of shit, my dearest damselfly.
Bear me no frolic, as wry pages pierce doubt’s ion.
Having many hands you’ve never seen write.
Armageddon is little more than a cheese of my ear.
Just as a new habit makes girls of itself underwater,
one specific piece of popcorn argues fiercely with god.
And it’s all right there in public, like it was my own name.