Inspecting Dimensions

Inspecting Dimensions
 
Make your move, shake my groove, take my blues, wake the truth, ache and rue! This rake paid his dues, bluffing nothing for coming unglued in a stunning rhyme or two. Hell’s basin is a swell plaything, a lake of human stew with room for me and you!
 
Scorned, unfurled with the right glare… born to hold the world’s nightmares! Filtering worn stories tirelessly, spilling the Children of the Corn’s diaries. A mangled collector of ill and tangled porn, cannibal investors sired me quick! But then that bitch Hannibal Lecter fired me for being too sick!
 
I wasn’t bluffing it seems or rusting under the lusting gleam. Nothing left to dream, brushing death’s scene, munching a devilish Queen’s muffin when the rushing cum runs is like huffing steam. Busting at Hell’s brink like crushing a well of drink, I’m trusting and bespelled for kink!
 
Tripping the rift I fell through a black hole. Ripping a spliff would do well to fast console! A graveyard laid cards where gods who played their part arrive when sprayed apart worlds due to die provide a way out. Followers scorned still bother to adorn with their faith rearranging.
 
A rusty way of cut and paste magic left upon Fate’s tasting… …a tragic late display of a hasty escape. Deities left to jive alone with no creations. I guess mortal making meant they were played easy… …always pleading, beseeding or feeding on believers to pray and keep them alive and atone. Gray-faced and space diseased bereft in the empty zone.
 
So now they’re robbed of pride left with no worshippers remaining to toy with. Bereft like the Witch of the West with cursed ruby slippers claiming to slip. Dropped on the side, hefting the figure of their own picture, those gods are abstaining to get any bigger.
 
What’s left to matter when the world is shattered and every wish released in Earth’s tatters is rebirthed in streaming chatter? Cursed verses screaming faster than a massive collapsing galaxy swallowed vast and whole into a black hole! Even your most ancient prophets faint to suggest or paint what’s next, their gods created from fear-stain appear to abstain to mention what to expect in the next dimension!

But I have no fear of the reckoning. I’ll click with it quick like scalping tickets to the Resurrection. Yeeeeah, I took a chance on advance orders and can only look forward to the collection of souls unfolded into existence’s juxtaposition. It’s just a glimpse of cosmic wisdom without the honest indecision of religion.
 
No greater than any other creator, ‘cept I don’t play with lives, expect to hold sway with tithes, part red tide to start visits on the side solely to derive a sigh from other’s holy wives. I’m not above having fun, loving nuns, coming undone as my miracles clear interference. Spherical span of my squirrely plans are near, growing from weary land so the clergy doesn’t hear and shear my hands.
 
A cataclysm for stigmata vision, if war with me is their mission? They can get used to being goosed and ridden with more schisms from a flick of my wrists like a twisted catalyst of a new version this world is turning to mix. Redemption earning won’t be missed but nothing unifies inside faster than laughter and risk!
 
Check, check, watch me get reckless from this! Stress lets frets out, and I bless the jests from a mouth feckless to shout! Invest in an outlaw’s clout. Get wrecked if you step to the test, stroke Lilith’s thighs to chest! Every verse is full to burst AND my growing curse takes me to the brink. I don’t even write with ink but fill my pen when I think with sparks faced from dark places in between missing links! Highly collected, hydroponically blessed phonics ingested, distilled from dripping sweat. Invoking the crest so high, sex to leave even Eve breathless in every sigh! Expect my gist to digest, 20 seconds later with plenty of reckoning faders.
 
A wish to list what’s best for a greater animator, chronic, hypnotic style like crocodile skin worn thin on an alligator, anthropomorphed! Anthropologists listening to this will take a chance and scamper for answers of course! So to stay the sort who slays his sport and cuts hour-long flows, empowered to show into 10 minute shorts I’m coming full around. Since birth I’ve been like Ouroboros, spun around the Earth, unwound in my chorus of rhyme like Horus and the sound of time.
 
Rhyming crime like time is porous in its waves, discretely leaving secrets, more to fit in every play. Dimensional rifts worn sore, untethered, those wormhole scored walls weathered can never stay. An earned map to console in the collection behind every inter-dimensional rhyme I rap to roll where rocks stolen from the moon’s dark side are beholden!
 
Split and zoom those rocks are still polarized with kinetic shifts, a magnetic gift, on inspection I fear. Left too soon, a souvenir from directions faaaaaaaaaar the fuck from here! Nth location visitors? Expectation spurious makes me wish I was more sure of this, but if reality takes a vacation I’m curious enough to fill a missive-list by riddled bits of allure.
 
If Time-Space is rocking and my mind of grace isn’t stopping? I’ll find a place to start hopping. Expecting more to scurry first to the universe next door, I’ll check in. I’m in for the win and hurrying to immerse in store the blurry dispersal: An omniverse of incarnations forgiven without explanation? Every last strife and past life unhidden? Every blessing and curse? Lessons by legions burst? I guess the cleaving price of leaving the sacrifice of this dimension’s life is the worst cost!
 
But also the best of a top down, never stop the sound of these rounds! Every collection I scrounged on inspection has made its investment. This dimension has had enough sessions to bust and pound on me! I found agility in Liberty’s ability to fulfill me. So I’ll see the journey to the next burning tourney of magic horrorwood! Whether tragic sore or good I remain unafraid to play like a slayer, affected in layers. This hyper-mind animator cyphered rhymes to wreck and check the dimension to rock next. Expect me to get feckless with my burning soul before the wormhole has me for breakfast!
 
But if it were a mistake in the first place to bet on this? Stakes to replace I reckon, un-expecting how they reach me and teach me new ways to roll, true basis of control. Unglued stasis folds into chaos’s mold and as I train and earn, maintain and burn, pain takes a turn, and I learn not to be overwhelmed with crap in things… …when at the helm I am my own captain, making the day happen.
 
Truth turns to rust when imagination and desire provide inspiration to aspire inside. Blues burn whatever they touch, whether they should--better than good is a tethered hunger. Beseeching from beneath the deed to achieve and under the dream to see, our noblest obligesse to humanity and the mortal test is to reach for what could be…

…past the crust as any pilgrim could and must until good is enough.