bloxxx

yup.
neighbors,
the moon is SO full.
but,
it's being shielded from sight by a thicket of rainclouds.
it's muted.
the low rumble of a far off battle,
the thunder of a distant stampede,
...that's what it feels like.
the bass-boosted barbarian blood-boiling drumbeats
are being obscured, muffled, hidden, and constrained.
uh huh-
rainy nights keep the beast-mode mayhem of a hard, hurt,
heavy heart from fully transforming into a furious ferocious fever
of active overreactions and making it worse.
i can't stand the rain.
and it's taking the last of the color with it-
matching the wolfish grey grizzled grit and grist on our grim faces
and the gilded chagrinning smiles across our mouths,
to the glistening colorlessness of the trees,roots, and rocks.
we're washed out,
but not diminished in the slightest,
and the dropping drips are each and every one turbo-charged
with lunatic energies, werewolfen watermarks and free-form atoms,
self-destructing outside my window
with a crash apiece on my metal-topped rooflines.
awash in brightness, above these clouds,
the skies over the woodsly goodness are feelin' sad to see us this way;
and as such they're crying moon-eyed tears,
infused with cold silvery blue light
into the darkest darkness down here.
uh huh.
there's a lullaby in translucence and tin being played in pitters
along the bitter brow of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
hard styles make for sound sleep and lucid dreams.
***********
but,
there are always quick and silver linings lacing the edges
of the infinite natural cycle of good, bad, ugly, and dope.
believe it.
what's the best way to get busy?
baking.
duh.
i couldn't let the opportunity to create some hottness pass by.
not while i've got all the ingredients right here,
just waiting to get combined together into something expert.
i make it all get activated.
i mean,
i'm actually NOT an A*-hole.
just sayin'.
check the cookie-crumbling teleport:

rock bloxxx.
that's right.
peanut buttery coconut oatmeal jauns.
with the chocolaty drizz,
and those coconut cookie crunch sprankles.
yeah.
the ground-up coconut is fatty-boombattie enough to keep 'em softer
than the peanuts would normally permit.
it's real.
soft enough to melt inside your face right after the shell
of gooey deep dark brown and crispy light brown get broken up
by your shiny bright flashing gnashing chompy-choppers.
word.
i doo-doo that chewy crispy crunchy super-hot treats-style sh!t.
i have dozens of  'em at the shop, kids.
and if you visit?
no tricks,
you'll get treats for your trouble.
really.
the moon doesn't care,
and neither do i.
we're (were)wolfing them down.
and i don't just mean cookies;
never quiet, never soft.....