In the middle of the desert, drunk, I did pen a dot to dot chart of the most pellucid stars. The further I walked from the fire, they spread. Out in a sheer chaos florescence,  Rorschach test. Dimorphic and shedding, I gagged in delight, and vomited up my breakfast in a similar pattern. Vatic and lost, I did a coyote running an SOS pattern. No longer having anymore use for my loggy pen. Letting go of my face into vast space with delight. I got dilly and naked and made love to the cold stars Without a second thought, I anti up for the test, and rolled out my bones to get bloody and spread. There, I came into a clearing were Asian pears spread... Along with pomegranate branded with Hades' pattern How came I upon this groove and its Persephone test? Complete with a Jerry-Built Nicholas Tesla pig pen. This was no safe place for agents, politicians, or stars To succumb to direct current and spin drift off in delight. I have a compendium of dried bullshit, and I do delight in it all for no reason, but the long shot with a spread of some legs in the Dregs, or at sky bars with the stars, that wear their sunglasses at night and in a set pattern. Calling valet for their cars that passed a crash dummy's test Litmused and abused by the best that I could never pen. Simply because, they are too rich and phonemic to pen against paper with vowels and consonants that delight an audience of blind muffled sheep shaved for the test Of us against them, alternating amps arc, powering the spread Of extemporaneous brain-washings. They bend you to pattern your DNA into a clone to be grown while you imitate stars. From your favorite sitcoms, and from some heaven these stars shoot guns into minds that Charlie Brown scars & Pig pen cares about dirt that he tends in a Gratefully Dead pattern as the girls all twirl in a whirl & carry sparks of delight I wondered where I went wrong with the light that I write to spread We all have our moments to address what we consider a test. A station Identification of stars that are paid to thrill and delight Me from this pen of slop and the lovely smell that words spread A virus patterned from power grid, rolls our heads into a black out test.