King Kong Keyring –

I’ve a gilded key ring, it hangs stiff, hangs down, will sway in the breeze of any hand’s current
It’s hanging off of my key, colouring the days for me, that hanging picture of 1933 King Kong
Door lock needed oil, a lubricating well for metal, so just now, every time is a tough time
I’ll get round to it soon, meantime, glad to be here, to get in, sit sown, read the Bible
It’s got a lot in it – ‘separate scenes coming together as one whole’ – so they say, and so I’m told
Despite purity, can’t find inner commitment to bother turning up in front of an altar, my soul is rotten, could leave high-class infections for any church communion queue
Going to read savoury genre, I know what that means for me, all about someone else, won’t someone else tell me why I should care about word-works
Plato, Aristotle and Hercules were as big as Kong, would have fallen in love with Fay Wray
That straight-laced mother-f told me again to tidy up my act, and after my dog, I concentrate more on the latter, the former is genetic predisposition
Over two months now, seventy-one days on a calendar time-lapse, and haven’t opened the Bible after opening the door, has the ending changed, maybe Kong is afraid of heights
King Kong II had the same ending as RKO King Kong I one

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