I gave tears, or swords, but they were all clinging like rot to the doors.

I lost my sword, because the Ultimate said so to me. I lost my sword, I sent it to 

the lot, I sent it to

the budget fund, it was wrapped around tape, and lost inside paper-money basements, it was

auctioned for the lost and paid a damn heavy price. 

It was fallen the sword, I was evergreen mostly,

depressed and illuminated by first one process, that of the burning inner charms of molecular

clashes, where conversations were pitiful in the needy times of fear, talk is short and taxed on

illumination, to bring the common misery of reaction to common modem fixed heads, not minds,

of I say Hello, and I say low, I say Hell, we speak no, no we speak, we don't try to illuminate, we

like to speak the record straight, and all of those who lack, sought to bring down on us all, the real

type, the real live lack in everyday being. So, I slung the sword, depression got through first, its

atom crawl, spin, stuck jiving atoms, beaming brown particles the virus, struck stone, stuck disease

in quicker blood, that streamed round us like fire, so depression first and always. What I mean is,

depression affected everything, into me, for me , to me, but don't call it a catalyst, just a small

primitive ache of the mind, casting fires, really, not clouds, big fires against blind tales, and burst

atoms screaming through dimensions, all and overcome, and tired red forms, in crushing tape, cut

sellotape shapes, crunchy and dirtied, bleeding out the stick stuff, the connection weaker, rolling,

round and round, in fragment forms dirty sellotape, thick black tape, wrapped round my face and

head, pulling out sticky hair, fail

Could a woman only scream, or war?

She can not see. They said, burn the effigy. Shit covered men, all shit cover words. So mach word,

I've sunk down into burning sand. And I've hit shells at the doors, because hate monkeys batter

them down. All is gone. Only talk works, for thrills, and it works, because monkey have faces and

teeth, words are smarting, they are bigger than us, they said the Ultimate was old man who would

hurt me more, a disused car-park for disused souls. Dirty forms, fag burns..

Black burn will come, and black sword.