#metaphysic
I dug and found
Tho’s too heavy to heave
Looking at ‘em and acknowledging
But the muscle’s gangrene-colored
I ‘em
yearn pull out
to
Lulled by a burning ground
Hearing the Hell’s crackling
Photographing it with ears
If I extinguish the prairie’s fire
I’ll bless ‘em with future flowers
I see ‘em n’ know
I sniffed ‘em a while ago
My fetuses living like worms
They wait for the biblical storm
To crawl out n’ preach the word
Welcomed like we’re in this world
Some better, some not...
I believe ‘em until I’m rotten
Human jars filling mental shelves
If one falls and shatters, a witness in myself dies
Archaeologist of the metaphysical Atlantis
Sunken in the residential ocean
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 7:29 AM UTC
There she stands,
An angel with broken hands,
An angel with stones for wings,
She sings the sun away
And spins timorous sky ashade
Of wonder, thunder row'n’ down
Her body, she sang of me
As I died asleep
Another night, my eyes too worn to cry,
Too alone for an expression of lonliness
To bare any meaning.
The sapphire trail
Skylark doled to drain
The riverrun grass of
Substance built.
Lifted in hypoxic transcendence
Glistening with light, ****** gold,
Skin to lilt, and touch to felt
And dawn rotted unto morning
With one less life having made it.
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 2:21 AM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
.
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC
.
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge.
I furnished it with my left over life, complete,
Barren and colourless and I wrote the newest
Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome
Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs
And reams of flesh. There in the lightest dark,
By the Druid stone that was placed just for me,
I planted a creeping yew tree. And the moon
Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen
Priest.
Under the covering hazel trees,
That sprung to life after the longest winter,
Which taught me to forget my name, I now
Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn
Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down
Turning solstice, the climates of the mind,
Where it is digging the never ending shallow
Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I
Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus
Moon shall ever rise above.
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
Philosophy about Solstice
Scientific method:
1. Observation: He said his physical theory raises dreams and joins interracial ideas - could produce longevity and immortality with his idea of raising the world with levers and raise their strength the world to bring the earth on its axis and improving the quality of evolutionary life the geniuses who come into the world. The Elves would raise with his new meridians to build a world that links the current mythical world with realistic ancient philosophical, to bridge the gap of the dying world today.
2. Pattern: The new world of elves help me transcend to improve today's world, to connect with the old, so I'll see needs that today could fraternize with seniority, to enhance resources and maximize them. Example: feeding more people necessary to prevent homeless people of their rights, maximize the cosmic world today with an Elf Archimedes to rule the new world and its vicissitudes.
Nights longer and more alike, not sleep or sleep, getting numbers for half days ... but no more whole, more evaporated water in the boilers of hell to recover from our inefficiencies and disabilities. 1-2-3-4- ... 4,5- 4.6 -4.7 ... I exist - I get up - I invoke the dew, and drops the recovery leftover for next winter - thus saving in my mind the fear of not extend beyond my unethical proportion of aid for subsequent actions helping future for those who need to continue or ...
3. I managed to see that during these days reviewing the epistemological axis where Archimedes stands with optics, physics, and engineering, strikes me how maybe even if he lived, he would have invented things to save us from the worst threats. I managed to raise my faith to join science and move ideas through numbers, astrological and cosmic phenomena. Today on Hydrostatic overcome the demographic Tsunamis threaten the world about crowding industrially. We would do more immune power of the mind without reason, making sensitive PLCs and computers programmed. I've noticed that we can all be engineers; in fact, we are, what happens is that we do not dream dreams starting unfinished, but rather we always begin and where the same without it.
4. For millions of nights exercise my way of looking at the ancient world and observe that it was still the Sun - trip with my thoughts and saw that the days were universal, to the moon was sharper - touch the sun and moon with my mathematical calculations caressing the entire universe. Inquiring as sleeps the world in my hands and my senses, to measure the physical magnitude beyond being I Archimedes - raise me to the world in my hand and reach the Nordic worlds - try to go to bed thinking he would lose the night to count stars and beams of morning light -even got the world in my hands feeling lashes mortality. The results are: with the Elf I slept counting stars in 5, 8, 3, 10 minutes (average 6.5 min), with the arithmetic in 3, 7, 11, respectively 3 minutes (average of 6 min), without at 9, 15, 14, 12 minutes achieve agencying (average 12.5 min). I am a prisoner of the proportions that occur over time. Counted nights and days pass and my mind was seeing everything together once.
5. Therefore the phenomenon Solsticio helped me measure the nights intoxicate fatigue levitating night inspiration. Biologically alive even if Archimedes still have hopes of immunology strict life, but rather do good fighting it scientifically, but how is knowledge enemy dying in their own ignorance called fear. The more than academic Epistemology is one gram of salt to the ignorant homeless, which is all the Universal Sea to water and all the sea to move ships to those who really thought of it back and not stray it for those who use it. Elves revive the mythical millennium sick every year remembering that it is possible to heal the lost time.
The Sun gets tired and already has varicose veins, I would think that given time restores me to return to the rivers where they were born. But the sun continues to rise and this fat and cholesterol, we need ways to measure how much longer we can keep watching the Solstice like ours. Perhaps an infusion of Mandrake for poor people starting to be good ...
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
.
Winged caterpillar
That frees my soul,
Sets my mind to dreaming,
How the hand of man
Out plays the God,
Makes love
To its master.
With fondled fingers, you paint
A dumb firmament, the way
Light dazzles as it breaks
Or how the itching rain
Taps a teasing melody as it falls
To the lover ground.
Beloved of Orpheus
Whose wove you coiled in-
Vents a garment of bird song loom,
Content my breath
The way that water wells
And lolls into puddles
Nesting not before the hot,
Harpy steam.
O melodious pool,
Undulating lake, frame
To emotive vapours, without
Ship you ply in wakes.
The oarsman plucks the main,
Your body is the sail,
Drunkard winds and warblers,
Blow hard, but fail my ears,
Atone as well, the wretched sounds of day
For they are sour spells, and but a fools
Trash canned movements, in a state
So needy of weeding,
Mere sound is soiled
The way you rake.
Evolution spreads,
As stones do,
When moves the river bed,
Grace, in violence,
Sparkles as it blooms,
Like an ears creation—
Rose on the tomb.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
.
Out
Doors
Shout
Floors,
Whispering
Wrings,
Wilding
Wings,
Emptiness
Full,
Loneliness
Unruled,
Angels'
Spirituals.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
.
In the dreamlands of sun,
He streams the invisible rivers
Of lit glories to come,
Careens, lording the beams,
Airs, above the ordinary
Grasses that dry in the gleams,
With eyes that wash over kills,
The forking fowl and mealy vole,
Hare in the runaway hills,
High above the fourth wall, stead-
Fast, stately in his dress,
To commencements of death,
Where eagle strikes with talon,
Crescent as day moon,
Sudden, silent to the cast fallen.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Winged caterpillar
That frees my soul,
Sets my mind to dreaming,
How the hand of man
Out plays the God,
Makes love
To its master.
With fondled fingers, you paint
A dumb firmament, the way
Light dazzles as it breaks
Or how the itching rain
Taps a teasing melody as it falls
To the lover ground.
Beloved of Orpheus
Whose wove you coiled in-
Vents a garment of bird song loom,
Content my breath
The way that water wells
And lolls into puddles
Nesting not before the hot,
Harpy steam.
O melodious pool,
Undulating lake, frame
To emotive vapours, without
Ship you ply in wakes.
The oarsman plucks the main,
Your body is the sail,
Drunkard winds and warblers,
Blow hard, but fail my ears,
Atone as well, the wretched sounds of day
For they are sour spells, and but a fools
Trash canned movements, in a state
So needy of weeding,
Mere sound is soiled
The way you rake.
Evolution spreads,
As stones do,
When moves the river bed,
Grace, in violence,
Sparkles as it blooms,
Like an ears creation—
Rose on the tomb.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
In the dreamlands of sun,
He streams the invisible rivers
Of lit glories to come,
Careens, lording the beams,
Airs, above the ordinary
Grasses that dry in the gleams,
With eyes that wash over kills,
The forking fowl and mealy vole,
Hare in the runaway hills,
High above the fourth wall, stead-
Fast, stately in his dress,
To commencements of death,
Where eagle strikes with talon,
Crescent as day moon,
Sudden, silent to the cast fallen.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Crow on the ground—
In his pecking lob sidle walk,
Struts with airs unlanding
On the sleeping lawns.
His black eyes are sideways,
Eyeing me as I watch—
What a rude intruder.
Is it me or is it he?
I make my coffee—
At a window into his world,
He waits, wades with indifference,
Goading the flighty songbirds.
The blackness moves—
With the dimming, trailing sun,
So many things left unknown,
Crown on the ground.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
10 Haiku of Raven
1
black God
Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
. . . Shadowed by raven.
2
valley morn
Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
. . . Carnal tillers wake.
3
Raven spell
Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
. . . Druids incantation.
4
unfaithful
Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
. . . Love has turned black.
5
outcast
Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
. . . Lone raven in sky.
6
mischief
Lone raven cackles . . .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
. . . Mist cuts down the woods.
7
marked
Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
. . . Dark angels halo.
8
Loki
Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
. . . Colours a black eye.
9
tall tale
Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
. . . Spring only legend.
10
dark angel
In his feathered dress . . .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
. . . Even eyes are black.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
The whole world is a sea—
A great ball of green blue eye
Watching the skies with a watery
Gleam in the round and swirling
Aye, the sea is a sauce, quivering
In the bowl of heaven and clouds
Are blushing with rivers run flushing
Waters older than the gold of stars,
Into the sea. I see that hushed time
Is flowing as it all revolves with tides
And birds, white as snow and foams
Pure as dreamed downy wind, wings
Long, sure, set for a choppy pilgrim's
Sea journey, swaying with the stages,
Always breezy, sliding as fish do flying
In her rounding depths and her gusty
Crests and all are riddled as mariners
Who travel on her spindrift ways, days
Of the dizzying sun and steamy springs,
We all go step into deepest end, darkling
Fathoms of slip, those eventual afterwhens,
Riding the sunk, fabled under-ocean streams,
In mangled kelps of weeds, into the murky wave.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House. Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier. The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills. On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near. His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.
Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.
Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation. My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth. I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis. The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange. Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
He wrote in the mornings, she recited to him at night,
He always made breakfast, she made dishes disappear,
His garb was quite frumpy, and hers, made of spun gold,
He struggled with fashion, song birds would dress her,
He thought his poems looked best in moving candlelight,
She made all the fires and lit candles with her eyes.
Once, he was embarrassed and said to her,
'How can you live like this with me in a hovel?'
She said it reminded her of Plato's Cave.
At readings he looked out and saw sinking eyes,
Now he has her read all his poems, it works
Wonders that way, and after-parties are strange,
Everyone keeps staring and asking for her
Name. She gives cryptic answers and winks
At him. The poet was running out of words
And thought his days with her were waning.
But she said her heart was kept in a precious
Box of symbols, of words, only he could write.
She said that it was written in the sky, that poetry
Was dying and that he was the cure. He told
Her that the stars were lost at night, and fading
While she sparkled unfailing, and many times
They tasted each others tears, many times
The world stopped spinning, he knew
It was her, she felt it was him. To all
Others, their one bedroom flat was small,
Yet to them, it was the Palace Athene.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
The whole world is a sea—
A great ball of green blue eye
Watching the skies with a watery
Gleam in the round and swirling
Aye, the sea is a sauce, quivering
In the bowl of heaven and clouds
Are blushing with rivers run flushing
Waters older than the gold of stars,
Into the sea. I see that hushed time
Is flowing as it all revolves with tides
And birds, white as snow and foams
Pure as dreamed downy wind, wings
Long, sure, set for a choppy pilgrim's
Sea journey, swaying with the stages,
Always breezy, sliding as fish do flying
In her rounding depths and her gusty
Crests and all are riddled as mariners
Who travel on her spindrift ways, days
Of the dizzying sun and steamy springs,
We all go step into deepest end, darkling
Fathoms of slip, those eventual afterwhens,
Riding the sunk, fabled under-ocean streams,
In mangled kelps of weeds, into the murky wave.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china
Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents
Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.
And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored
Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
.
Out
Doors
Shout
Floors,
Whispering
Wrings
Wilding
Wings,
Emptiness
Full,
Loneliness
Unruled,
Spiritual
Angels.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC