Pocket full

Pocket full of dust, object of my lust

Paint without the brush, broke without the crutch

Too little to clutch, too much to touch

It is never enough, but it's enough to bluff with

Pretty little pockets, full of  shiny brittle objects

The opposite of modest, the gaudiest who flaunt it

Godliness is constant, but this odyssey is taunted

With fraudulent wants, solve it with solevants in product

My jaw works like a claw to crush the law into sawdust

It's a potluck, BYOP, bring your own pocket

Mines got the cockpit of the rocket ship promise

Comet tip laundry, quite a quandary try to follow this

Pop culture insignia presented by preference, sometimes with reference

The size of the package denotes the decided measurement

All kinds of elements, some metaphorically benevolent

I snap the tops of pockets like they had poetic relevance

Every eloquent celibate sentiment written in felt tip

Will add a chemical smell, like a manufactured meltdown

From hell hounds on rounds, to swell clowns with frowns

I'm spell bound, compelled to sell sounds to hell now

Pretty little pockets, all shapes and colors

Dust in the wind, potentials little brother

To big to cover, to small to even wonder

this that and the other, love lust for lovers