Dio singing of Heaven
and Hell with Sabbath blaring
from stereos anthemic
drove by those plastic letters
following us, trailing us
down the street away so gone
in a state of flux, fucking
the mind's processes of thought
like potent psychotropics.
Life now a pupa shrouded,
crusty shell stuck to the tree
of spheres, ten emanations,
visions of Kabbalistic
thought, provoking us to feel
we are trapped inside inside.
Ugly caterpillars wait.
The body best be broken.
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