magdalene just wanked off st. peter,  and i’m like...
magdalene just wanked off st. peter.,
the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines...
and jesus did a miracle streak of ****-smear in leather,
gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation;
i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed
into a back-up dancer / mimer role -
and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.*

self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory,
self-love quotes from what the greeks missed
in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae;
i can write about my ~**** life
in the same way you write to idealise your **** life,
9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s
sardine packing of expected, tight...
he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer
for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent:
i will not make england my home just because i can speak it...
i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel
like lower class... if not migrants;
and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh
enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching
that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar;
unless of course it was all rather unnecessary,
then i abide by the law of knock down ginger...
and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.