Unidentified monograms
we are floating through a machine-gun pterodactyl
that shoots lay-zer tiger gamma-ray photon blobs at a flying bag of nuts.

We ride on a an escalator accelerating toward the speed of sound
towards a symphony that shrinks in our synapses and breaks our bonds. Without words we wander towards a waxy floor
and slip or just trip on a trampled stumbling block of sand.

And I cry at the sight of a man who will probably die for the sake of his pride; who had lied, and cheated, and been mistreated for the sake his gains that caused him pains, but were vain and empty and deserve no sympathy. (for sure)

He will endure for the glory of the cure which will have no discrepancy, and will illuminate the enemy
when it comes within proximity
of the light of God,
which burns all flesh.

For patience is a virtue that the universe attains to, with billions of years gone passing in a flash now.
With breath and reason there will be a passing of this season by the times and dates marked down at the bottom of the page under sub-section be
after "I am" and "I was" and  "I shall"
and there won't be a televised broadcast.
There will simply be radio silence for those who are listening.
(Yes they are indeed still listening)
Towards a siphoning of nitrogen out of air into the ground
without sound but with space.
All to be brought back out again
out to spin again;
begin again.
(Better than the last time)