wisefool

When a thought stops. Dead in it's tracks.

Then it dances, it wiggles, it shimmies, twists, and twerks.

Expanding in a intra-coitus puffy muffin type of manner
that loves to be stroked, the thought yes, it loves a proper petting.

Creating a gravitational suctioning force that pumps the blood stronger than your own heart,

filling up with more blood after each compression, creating exponential flow

as it jigs, shakes, trembles, and quivers in fearful anticipation, the thought that is, yes.


The entire force field around you pulsates, life exists within a vaccuum, where dust is macroscopic. . .

Sometimes, A thought stops on a dime.

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Say hello to my frontal lobe.