Time gone, ere the harvest moon

WHO ARE YOU?

This realm, couch submerged, bombardment of image, false Idol (but I reach for your shadow). The pope, someone, anyone (you!), looks down upon the laity. Pope on top, an archbishop or two, deacons, politicians, Muslims, Jew. Vying (what for, where’s love gone?), mountainous heaped upon the laity, I. Pacts and groups, submerged, for lies and mad interests, footsoldiers patrol the bottom of the heaving ocean. UFO strike, papal lies, oxymoron, no? Down incisions in two,

Laity prod and poke, bespoke egos, searching in boxes for their clothes, given with shark smiles, incising. Their mad grin, oceans mind as one climbs hell pipes, oil of fire, eye pits, submerged, incision of lies, cut my eardrum: kamikaze children.

Time gone this harvest moon (still no you), light filled submerged ocean flooded game cons. Played games like games flooded the ocean. Played reality. Played madness. Flooded everyone, whole pyramid up, rose the balcony, (you atop!), Played the pope who lost Reality who hit me, battered my eardrum, incised this pyramid upon, lunatic asylum, a pyramid in an ocean: Brahman.

Tonight I love you, sadist: your incision.