Mother and daughter sing as the antihorizons close onto the green sickly hills
A ground of smiles and acceptance as eyes wander across a familiar landscape
Homes for families and food for crowds
The concept of time has evaded us and we are forced to gaze at the frozen perversions and dwell
I’ve grown too much for my stream of consciousness to allude to tranquility that rattled my eyes
Like a pinball machine
Or a bag of avian bones
Hollow with ease but hauntingly lightweight
The very static presence
That I was promised is
Laden with stark and dangerous afterthoughts
The antipasti of my existence but the full course meal is not complete without it
I let time trail through my fingertips like honey oozing from a diseased honeycomb
It has escaped me yet I feel no
Burning desire
To fundamentally and systematically ***** my—
My brother told me round the coffee table
You see I’m shooting for the moon but you’re painting me in indigo