Stream of Thoughts in Whiskeybottleeyes

[molepeople27]

Golden braids in her crusty apple eyes
Misty clouds in her solitary lines
Brushing the hubcap under the rude nuggets
A thousand pounds of oysters at the pub back room
Where the williows grow and the workers can't pluck it
Streaming outlines that were coming too soon

Faliing through oceans and liquid mines
Devils in ashtray, based on counterfeit light
A hundred feet of diabetic dice
Grizzle chairs in a wildy wicked fuzz
A minute too soon-
Is certainly a must

 

[TJgamer]

I find it a little hard to understand.
However, I compliment how the ending words don't truly rhyme, but have a similar sound to each other.
Nice work, that's what I call it.