Meaning
f
a
l
l
I
n
g
like sparrows in silent wind
like leaves in seasonal flux
again and again….
into the violent dirt
inflamed mud

where we pity the worms
and their empires of clay and mortar

a pomegranate a jewelled pagoda
moving and centralised
cyclic and stagnant.

Everywhere, I do not see
directed untowards
magnetic poles.
Agni-metic people.

The sparrows song
in underwater caverns
startles ripened ears
(wrinkled, warn, and walled)
between dogmatic slumbers…

ertras, I can hear you
»»»»» —————————————-»  [you]
where?
f’-> : {inside euclidean halls}

meaning, falling
passageways toward
nothing. [frameworks]

-oliver and jonte

Nervous butterflies
emerging from a chrysalis
of chrysanthemum wings of doves.
Flying towards burgeoning horizons
fluttering erudite on solar winds
lost amongst deranged proximities
bounded by blackened skies
Escaping realisation
subterranean rainbows flicker in prismic identities
diverging depleting
diminishing deconstruction into distinctive dominions
waning light that merges into surroundings
(bound together by the unfortunicity of birth)
[aren't all?]
Falling since conception
“all things are a part
all things are apart”
Loud
crimson daylight
excess is the prerogative of the crystalline
...
time
distances
people
such a petty quality

one feels more distance
by degrees
the closer the surroundings.
(and when I say dancing, I mean jumping through galaxies)
[oh good, I am better at the latter]
(it's like tumbling,)
[was all there ever was]

[a can? Or a cylindrical box of tin?]
…
…
…
[but I digress.]
(My my my
Don't touch the apple pie)
[if you do I will cry
antelope bones down a chalkboard.]
(what?)
[Screaming “sirens, sirens
Sleeping alarm bells
show me madness,
I am cluttered”]
there are no gods
only pillars of marshmallow
transforming, caressing
endlessly

-oliver and jonte

I gaze into the distance,
silhouettes of cranes stand elegantly on crystal water.
Behind me, moonlit mountains crouch with their
caves and rocks.
And the spirits, charged atoms, flutter
with the wind.
Beneath me, only hope, immortal like Styx
cracked beckoning
as I cross to that other time.
I search for my dreams, one lost between
dark branches.
But in vain; battle, battle, clammer, gather,
go,
I am still….
To fall into the rupturing sky.

-milly and jonte