riddle me this and you might repent your sphinx.
or rethink your possible.
you might sink ships to repeat poesidan's wavelength
when your frequency's finished. you may horde minutes
for hours.
your towers aspire
and the roof of the earth implodes.
the blue is real.
but the black behind; the black behind the blue is swollen with stars,
and a dream.
that means
you.

don't be coy.

be god's companion. ramble
through the wonderful and be glad at it.
get comfortable.
you have the advantage. slant your voodoo askew
of the mundane lamps
and ashes
of our daily
spite.

make love and bandit.

adore the floating hum
of your every peace. for
the engines of yes are absurd.
they are the last word
when the first has
said you.

it's the new forever; glaring from the underbrush of our dire hope.

be the wind.
be at least the wind.
and i will teach you
how to read lips
for a blind
ghost

with your
heart.

and no runes.

and no
snow.