is it too much of an onomatopoeic dissonance that this is synonymous to regret dubbed as slouched nirvana. Across the bonfire, there’s volition as glare, light as judgment. Why they call her Luningning, I know not. Take excess for jaunts and flesh, and pay no heed to illusions. The mirage on the wall is but fire-dance on the bitten lip of true company. heady static pierces pinecone. Soon the moon will sink like **** to ****. Or felled star as tripled glaze of salted lip. Or the ****** of the butterfly. Are we here to metamorphose these tiny susurrations into a commune? Dank and stale as ****-laced pavement, the whole world now spires in uneven strobes. The last song on the karaoke as memory. The knead of temperamental air on the scalp. Take pork rind for bread, intemperance as tribute. The night dons its silken robe and shows her pair: two moony eyes piercing the noise.