as i slipstream, unseen in red leaves golden in the dun
i writhe in no horror, collapsing figments of ennui with the tip of my prehensile tongue
i know not how the rivers run, but joy is not dead... it capers in the laser lilies of our fire
i know from stone
the story of the mountain
but i drink stones and cut bread
with breaking waves, anyway.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
as i slipstream, unseen in red leaves golden in the dun
i writhe in no horror, collapsing figments of ennui with the tip of my prehensile tongue
i know not how the rivers run, but joy is not dead... it capers in the laser lilies of our fire
i know from stone
the story of the mountain
but i drink stones and cut bread
with breaking waves, anyway.
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