Head as sieve for sifting rain

Dreary days when the brain is made to pay for all the time in play with neurochemistry, sleepily they all fade away but not the day when the motion is to fenestrate. Actually I'm awake, through the clouds I slake thirst and burst a bubble of sensitivity to the world, thence forth it's all proclivities, fuck a tv personality especially if their soliloquy ain't moving me, individuality, the bane of existence and yet we celebrate all our difference; and what should it be? Raindrops on the scene of nativity? Kaleidescopes elope into phantasmagoria of mental allegories of dystopian utopia, one pilgrims vision, is prison, which makes it escapable through all the books we've never written. An infinity of creativity resulting in endless words and scribbling, a snake eating tail type cosmos of circles within circles within circles and the color purple, Alice walkering through the ghetto on the bus, in lust we trust and discuss and the different ways society could spontaneously combust into laughter friends genuine questioning, sleep so happy naked into the mourning, upon happiness what depends? The staving off of ends? It all certainly hangs suspended   Swinging for cerebral psycho emotional appendages, blended with experience of fearing things, I'm scaring up the bots just to slay them, then through talk therapeutics to get rebooted, blasted out spoken word and was booted, hit the corner spot for some good shit but got pooh poohed and muted, fuck it, jus lemme listen to some legitimate music? Any suggestions from the cupids? Or the cute kids? Sometimes it all seems so intelligently stupid: fuck Donald trump and all the Larry summers type bullshit, I don't understand how after thirty years of blood in the sand society can't compute shit ! Blame the hype and the thirty second news cycle, or the lack of political influence of prince ...  Why mince words with the absurd? are we better of curbed or heard? Legend of the hamhock he ended up in drydock with the dry rot ... Whiskered up and liquored, hit the store till he got bored and sacrificed nice life for a Sasquatch wife and a really sharp knife. Out in the boonies with some loonies, couldn't get any more roomy than watching goonies on the shroomies, oh who he? Commander hamhock the pit boss crew chief? Double executives and cold blooded expletives jackin all the kids for their extra cred; went to college early, mighty squirrely, but didn't figure out the girl game till 11.30.1999, but what would you expect from a swine? To turn on a dime? Fly? Or just swashbuckle and shine? Obviously the mini ore is divine influence as I in the life death sentence of mixed blessings through repentance. Hey you! Get some freakin pants!