Unblameworthy
No Eyes are the Windows of the SOUL.
No eyes no ears can see or hear God.
No serpent in the spine is spiritual.
Only a silly ghost can come out of that neurotic electrical feature. Ectoplasme de mes couilles !
No Lady, the END to all means.
No man a means to my vanity.
When you gaze into the eyes of others, you see a hatred for your own kind in the blackness of your soul, or the great enormous affection that you might possess for your personal petty sufficiency !
Or maybe, your spirit is free from dross. And therefore happily, it’s the angels, fear you !
Ô man, what a little thing you are. And yet a god makes you, his demure. A place of his own personal ravishing. The reward of a sincere hard working heart. The diaphanous boundless Temple of Individual Freedom, where even your loved ones, I do not adorn them.
Ô God wherefore art thou if not the mind in me that is. A curious self-reflective fantasy. A quibble in the parking lot. A maple tree in the wind. Bare and without leaves. A shuddering.
A naked girl that’s not coveted.
Pure.
Undefiled.