Toxic Bliss (2)

   
   "Toxic Bliss (2)"
   
On the Body of Christ did Simon sometimes munch,
And Coyotes can shape-shift in a fated crunch,
If you comprehend its Totem and wish on a Robin,
Knowing the Rook offers yearly reality, like an angler's bobber doing the bobbering;
Next, when you've pulled in any variety of flopping Bass,
All is Divine, like having a loving synergy with a Nordic-hued lass--
This is Simon's wishful thinking,
Him in clothed in much illness and never at his faith blinking,
For THEY visit him from the Otherworld,
Luminous females with girly curl swirls,
Tasting like colors--every hued sparkle defined--
Simon so alone, yet never in his mind.
And years ago a family member said he had no ass,
Being emaciated like a Confederate Soldier--fragile as glass;
Thus, he hated himself, knowing he was a true gimp,
Obsessing on their treatment--it making him corporeally limp.