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Cove Limer

Mac’a’cell-fy

Passion lay by

Lay the hand down on the eart’ins of mixed varied buttons

… because

buttons wouldn’t melt

not even the choc’aloteir

could even fuzz up the loveless

and less love would be injury

and would involve the sew and so

to solve it

called it injured

then in comes the jury

the cell:

red

blood cell

could your buttons melt if you couldn’t resin

… can you ever imagine the tells of a macabre

and how it breeds a b’read

could you read red alert and insert the hand

to occupy and coup the fine crests of love liquid

within your hands as of tiny cups

and cuplets, couplets, couple

mac-a-cellfy rode by and left you

with the pleasure of something never leaving

melted hearts are the art of chocolart

call it colour in this world as we would and could

the colour red and the fresh of wood

carve in care

and clothe the bare

A Bloody Being

a march of blood

a war of 'whole'

a haul of toll road where they roll

toil and trouble

the oil on the floor

the war you have with yourself

the necessary evil in you

each and every seed may grow edition

each and every human with ambition

very earned in which the rain may yearn some self before it became: tall in an after fall of this fool