As the afternoon ponders the early morn, I quaver and Damascus every simple coin into a rake of unforgiving steel. my sword deflowers my sheath like a hornet forgets black honey on a fraction of an asterisk- bathing horrors in Sunshine so massive, even eyes forget what theyβre looking for.
For Hours.
As the marionettes swarm the unity of our fated strings dangling from the hook in the sun, simpering in weary delights we join the spite of our peers with the disjoint promise of our estimations. We assume the proper god for the derelict prayer on the lips of a broken conundrum, humming verbs like a lunatic to better scope the open remove of our return
For Hours.
today is the best guess of an almost Wednesday spooling jewels from a cracked Always in the manner of an upset Muse spoiling the venture of our Providence with the venomous joy bespoke the wandering Kind. as poems displace the glow of our actual talk and aaaaaall the way down go our prayers.