The pages of go and spells.
Sun shining mirror reflecting dogmatic chaos.
Bug pick away at the snake in the grove.
Golden fortunes subsist of small time prophecy.
The beck in the heck, peep stones knocking
Down the advance of giants.
This supplanted heretic to the hairy Christs in front of me.
Grapes grow in all rows, drunken wine for praise and evil.
Canaan misunderstood and just stands there.
A parade all around Her, Babylon the great.
Fairy chart land, rain blows in the face of the whips.
Cross the wisps of willows weep.
Beckon head shadows torque tours by phantoms ate.
Mistake the turtles and the girdles.
For holding on too tight.
Much too close and hot for firm belief.
Rely and belie those head nets caught dearie gains.
I am an apostle at all cost for the winds.
Torch forth agape love seals to soil the swine.
Pull much teeth to begin the swarm of bees.
Needles covered touched, crimson ivory sharpen lust.
My bones are crying.
In a body tired of easy quakes and choirs singing.
Snap the gap and remain single.
Dru.
Poems of Dru 