Sublime silence on the outcast marshes casted against the grey hills, too many large avarice’s to climb before the night fills up from the 32 brothers of Jain laying outside casually laying next to brains how then tomorrow comes just a little too early with farmhands and families chiding across the stone fences of solidified ones next too left faced so the wind caught the lifters before dragging upon the pavement red colors slurry with the clear curry favors from boot kickers thinking feet taste like curry hurry now before the bloated bow of Jamison’s ship across the American gates drift to sleep more often than you know but you’ll never find from the laughing torn apart from targets harnessed the underdarks promise trough filled till the gauntlets hill squealing pig fissure separating spectators from sepulcher never pauses left breathless whistles hasten to the untimely demise what a trend a friend asked me what I was doing but couldn’t respond because the algorithm wouldn’t let me breath heavily disaster of compost composing a decomposition of which snitch position to behead quietly an analogy of past tense and future meaning bereft of any merit to trust those qualifying for positions of power hours are 7-6am and please don’t push breath out of dispensers