"watershed" poems
'Healer' time take thy poor, black sheep,
and stop it from wondering
in the dangerous corners
of the mind,
because heaven and hell collided
inside a body and in unity they came
in the presence of all those
who conspired to it.
From the frontal to the occipital lobe,
dark thoughts obstruct
the brain’s watershed regions
and thanatos they bring.
The soul cannot take this coffin
anymore.
The stone is too heavy to carry;
sliding down and pushing up,
every night the pushing starts,
for the dawn, her courage to crack.
It may be like Hooke's law they say,
but bodies break down,
when people apply the extra force
and so do the souls,
long before.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
by
rgpage
naked this night on soft satin sheets
his arm ‘round her shoulders, his lover’s head rests
her hair fills his nostrils with a scented bouquet
as fingers explore love’s affectionate quest.
tenderly lips touch in a loving lead
legs interlocking add to the play.
arms then wrap tightly pulling each other in
their hearts beating faster to join in the fray.
her ******* he kisses a sensuous gift,
she feels his love grow with each loving turn.
the curve of her back feels his fondling stroke
to capture this feeling forever they yearn.
his senses now heightened, his love at the ready
to soon to the feast, the more he will miss.
he must gain control and reign himself steady
for her love, her beauty, and her freely offered bliss.
their heart guided souls in lustful play
to their senses’ delivered a bountiful tray.
their love and youth play this night away,
‘til the dawn’s early light brings in a new day.
their lips now swollen, bruised, and red
hearts full of love, love’s watershed.
the fast night’s hours have swept past their bed
‘til night ties are severed with the sun in their stead.
as that night flew by so have the years,
his only love has since passed away.
he turns out the light perched next to the chair,
and off to bed slowly ending his day.
their children all gone one by one they’ve all grown,
occasionally stopping by w/ little time to spare.
w/ families and jobs and homes of their own
making the time to show that they care.
even though she’s gone he’s still not alone
he talks to her daily when he is at rest.
even though she’s gone good memories he keeps
God holds the others, and he kept the best…
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 3:12 AM UTC
Why scrawl any
pattern or
family of bitemarks
or caresses
The illustrator has
children of his own
and loud red
wine to waste
Visiting your birthplace
in your example
suggests antique
weaponry
Through sublime sense
Puritan watershed
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
A pivot, A ****** A watershed
Been miserably waiting for dawn in my head
Then the day came
A day my mismatch soul and body met
I fed on your words and voices
Wolf down everything from you and store them up
Taking mental snapshot in the dark
And prepare myself for yet another brutal week
I fed on tasty food and a good mood
Treat myself with something tangible
Glutton is never a sin for me
I fed on fantasies.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
The hanky he was sobbing into was crusty,
***** unwashed, unclean; yet strangely comforting to a little boy,
as he cried he made his way to a culvert behind the school,
some place the other kids couldn’t see him crying,
it was more comfortable being near rocks
-next to that watershed for some reason?
He looked down at his antagonist,
the scaly-green feet,
they made him cry harder,
he lamented…
“Why have I been tormented so?”
“Who gave me these feet? Who made me this way, lizardly, scaly, an animal no?”
“What class am I, what species? Are those toenails, claws or a disease?”
“The way I’m treated makes me sad. Where is my mommy, where is my dad?
“Did I come from an egg? Didn’t we all? Why do they pick on me, make me feel so small?”
“My feet are reptilian even I can see that!”
“Am I part lizard? Are there horns on my back?”
“I can’t hide in sneakers ‘cause the claws tear them apart.”
“Not great at math, language or art.”
“They always pickin’ on me, today it’s in the schoolyard.”
“That is why I sit here on the rocks crying with my ugly feet and sullen heart,”
“Cannot run fast so no baseball, basketball or soccer…”
“The other kids tried to stuff me in my own locker…”
“One mean little girl even threw a dead mouse at me!”
“But I’m only part lizard as far as I can see?”
“My English teacher says that my words are like a bird song”
“If I talk like a birdie along with monster’s feet, no wonder I don’t belong!”
“Even still, to be so mean to me, I know that it is wrong…”
“ONE DAY I WILL SHOW THEM ALL, THESE FEET THEY HAVE A PURPOSE!”
“MY WORDS OF SONG AND FEET OF MAGIC COMBINE A COSMIC CIRCUS!”
“I am no freak of nature, no forest Pan or Satyr…”
“It is not the way I look, my clothes or feet that matter…”
“It is what is in my heart and mind, the things I do that truly count…”
“For those things that make us different, for they are tantamount…”
“Seven heads, seven stages, seven fables, seven sages”
“Seven stars and seven wonders and seven heavens that we’re under…”
“And all those things they say are great and marvelous about us…”
“Will one day be written in the book by Great Old Uncle Taautus!” *
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
At the beginning
Is an open sea
Knowing nothing
But its own
Owning every
Beach it met
Not knowing enough to feel alone
After many
Long years it finds
There is much
More for to see
Inlets and outlets
On every shore
A sense of greater freedom to be free
The sea joined
To many rivers
Seeing land
On either side
Freedom then became
Just a memory
The river's end was not in sight
But along the way
An Ocean Watershed
Joining rivers to the sea
It had to sleep
In many river beds
To see what it was meant to be
Down in the river
Flowing headlong
To the sea
Joining the
River's rage
That is where
I long to go
That is where I am meant to be.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
when you start
feeling as if
just being you
is not enough ,..
when you see
the sunlight slipping away
sliding into the ocean
and the outbound tide
is pulling strong ,..
gravity throbs downward ―
you see it's weight groan
pacing in lonely eyes,
you feel it's burden
bear down on
a wayfaring stranger
wandering away alone ,..
wondering what went wrong
stalled by a riverside
frozen in time ;
walking on slippery rocks
and fallen stars,
searching for peace
along the meandering shoreline
the waterfall surrenders
a river's silent lament ;
the storm gales' surge stirs
the urge for moving on
a heart broken knows
how fickle tides change
which way the wind blows ,..
which way the rain
comes falling down ―
watershed moments
undulating
serpentine rivers,
unbridled terrain waters
veritably cascading beyond
blurred latitudes,
uninhibitedly drifting
in shapeless symmetry ―
a deep ocean rises
with the calling tide's
murmur,
the shorebirds linger ;
hole up with the peace
of the unsullied sands
at the sea stained
tide-mark ―
barnacles cling
to the pulse
of the tidal sway
where starfish hold on to
slippery rocks ,..
being enough
to while away
just a little bit longer ―
to simply let it all be
and wholly wash out
in the water
waiting for the tide change,
to swallow whole
the rivers stagnant flow,
immersing
the stars in swirling silence ―
in the unrestrained
rhythm and the sea ...
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
To my dear son, Boaz in distant Idaho,
Saturday nite, the whole of New Zealand waited in apprehension for the All Blacks rugy team to play the resurgent Wallabys @ Fortress Eden Park.
The previous week at Suncorp Stadium in Sydney, in driving rain, the All Blacks muddled through a painfull draw with the Wallabys, 12 points each with no tries.
The Wallabys had fancied their chances and had wanted an emphatic win on home soil.
Both teams took that score as a loss and the gauntlet was thrown for the second match…..
A brilliant evening, clear and fine , 50,000 people crushed in to Eden Park and you could feel the apprehension, the rest of the country sat in front of their TV willing the team on.
The Haka was given a brutal rendition, you could feel the determination, the passion emanating….the Ozzies glared their defiance back…it was all on!
10 minutes into a titanic struggle with the score three all Captain Ritchie McCaw had a brain fade and was yellow carded off for ten minutes by the French referee.
The crowd roared…then murmured their worry like you’ve never heard before.
The Ozzies mustered a huge scrum which the All Blacks countered with one man down…. The counter ****** pushed the Australian scrum back 15 ft.
Every man in New Zealand was on his feet roaring, you could feel the spirit of nationalism soaring….the moment was a watershed.
The All Blacks counterattacked showing a brilliance in attack and defence we have not seen for years… and from that moment on the game was won.
Final score 51:20 The Bledisloe Cup was ours.
As the match finished the TV camera panned across the solidly black clad crowd…. I have never, ever in my life, seen so many, simultaneous, sets of white teeth grinning!
The trip home to Australia would have been… a very subdued affair.
Thought I should share this marvellous moment with you Boaz.
Luv Dad.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
a deck
now with
Bedouin high
there dream
her red
quotient in
Catalonia with
Montserrat qua
mountain deem
hindmost their
trials to
independence back
to innermost
Barcelona as
watershed lariat
begun this
year Ole
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
I was the jubilee runner
You were the southbank stroller
Carried away in your hair
I turn to see you turn,
To turn my steps into
Paused awkwardness
On the platform to my
Heart you stood, standing
Me still dead in my tracks
You were April’s showers
Raining down on my grey
Metro , the girl outside
Waterloo station,
The one sharing my
Thoughts unspoken
Watershed second
I was London’s haze
Set adrift in your eyes
Parted, but closed around
Your boho-chic attired
Kohl hairedness
I see you
Southbank bound
In my eyes forever
Open note to the
Sky you set me adrift
In, in that shy second
You were I, were we,
Were us, less them
All we, paused in the throng
Framed in my clickety
Clacking jubilee my
Train-track love
Story, I was the jubilee
Runner to your
Southbank stroller
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
Maybe water runs uphill
From the ocean's bursting treasures
Of salts, silts, sands
Marshalling at the estuaries
Spawning rivers, as pioneers
Oozing into coastal plains
A brackish caravan rolling
Inland to new-found-land
Beyond the rule and will
Of the tide's spill where
Drought and dry spells
Sweep like wraiths
******** on thieving winds
Throwing heartless dusty curses
Picking off stragglers
In slacks and backwaters
Or caravanned through known channels
Paying taxes to the thick-rooted soil
For passage upstream
Past thirsting leaf and bough
Every mile hard-won
Til the watershed haven
Of bog and lochan
Corralled safely among peaks
There to farm the cloud and mist
And to see blossom, in good years
A deep harvest
Of cold, clean snow
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 11:29 AM UTC
She said she'd pinprick your watershed
Leave alone , it must be bled
A cold and somewhat silent shiver went through you
She tossed your hair with fingers flared
Before she rapes your lips she says she cares
And cautions ,"I am no where near through with you ."
She rips your shirt , rakes your skin
Over and over again
Till blood trickles down upon you
She licks you dry
And praises the sky
saying, "God is jealous of you guy ."
Then she sits upon your lap
Knocking off your tip top hat
And throws a ****** to you
The first and third lines rhyme
She takes away your time
Makes you scream in agony and ecstacy
All of mercy . , .
More on mercy . , .
Tasting pain . . .coated in pleasure
The memory lingers
Burning like a scorpions stinger
And now your mallingered aren't you
The second and fourth are lines of choice
Developed rhythm for the course
And you grade your decisions running through you
She left you dead , hurt your head
And then she fled
Tossing your heart into the river
Your grateful that you live
but still you go on and grieve
Or at least wished you did
As you are trying to relate
All you do is quake
And start to uttering
"All on mercy . . .
More on mercy . . .
Have mercy . . .on me ."
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
That watershed moment
when the eye goggles comes off,
is akin to winning the Burleigh Horse Trials
with the much coveted Trophy.
Meeting a Rambler as an equal
on an arduous fog clouded valley
along the Devil's Punchbowl,
or a French Phrase Book
that's almost perusal by nature,
under the Arc de Triomphe
How I long to be accomplished
as one of the few, rather than a
casual follower of Velleity .
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
Glacier National Park, Lower Quartz Lake
Wednesday August 12, 2015 Day 1 of the backpacking trek.
Our tent next to the still waters.
Eventide respite.
Deborah reflecting in solitude at sunset.
Quiet with a gentle breath of mountain air.
Without an updraft to soar and glide upon, the eagle, nesting in the range of the watershed, has retired for the day.
A pair of Common Loons and four Hooded Merganser prepare for the nights cooling, moving in the glossy water toward their rest, gentle lines tracing as the water crests and falls behind.
Black swifts emerge from the shadows, dancing near the lake to feed on twilight insects.
The orange sky and red orb of Sol are a prelude to a multitude of stars as the world turns into darkness.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Rivers dry up, except
The Mississippi.
If/When
That particular long and wide
And fat and deep
Body of Wa-Wa
Completely dries up,
The World, as SK
Was fond of saying of
Roland of Gilead and the
Shadowed Spire,
"Has moved on."
Monstrous
Glaciers partied hard inda
MIDWEST!
For, like, endless freezing
Nights and equally
Chill-laxing daze,
Man! Man? Dude!
Dudes? Little dudes
With spears takin' on
The Mammoths! No
WAY!
Way.
They'll not outlive and
OutLAST US, My
Frozen Bros!
(But we had fire, the roasting
Kind and the hot burning
Coals within our spirit,
Fire to perpetuate our
Species through endlessly
Cold nights and days)
Whoo-Hooo!
Dude! You plowed
DEEP last night, Bro!
What's that stuff on yer
Brow. Sweat?
Hey is it me or is it
Hot in here?
Dudes? We're like
SMALLER
Irregardless, or
Re, the You SSS of
A has a large dent
In its midsection.
Because those partying
Glaciers were forced back
Into polar hiding, shedding
Great earthen chunks of their
Fatty selves, carving and
Slashing
The most fertile watershed
In the country.
Their ageless and
Timeless enemy, that
Bright Yellow Orb,
Opened its great
Cyclopean eye, and
Focused, yet again,
Blessed rays of light
Heat, and life.
The melting...
Water lying on the ground,
Unsure? How about we start a
Pool? I bet it'll pay
Off to flow on not-flat ground, the
Pool collapses and begins flowing
With purpose, streaming
Together as a larger
Body of water:
The Miss
'Sippi.
Any number of
Numberless great and lesser
Lakes up North
Decided to be hole-
Y. Gravity
Did the rest.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
Nat writes:
so many eddies colliding on the surface of a mighty river
yes, there is something otherworldly here
yes, even sacred,
in the finest sense of that overburdened word
Ah, what you speak of is
the very eye of God.
I see it in a Kaleidoscope of color
perfectly balanced yet
confusing all the same,
and the beauty of it!
A chaotic comfort like adrenaline.
The simple confidence of the knowing
held together by a single point of reference.
His bright eye the Fulcrum
o_________________________o
^
between:
The Sacred and Profane,
teetering in perfect balance
(For now)
between:
Respiration (The In) and Exhalation (The Out)
He resides in the pause between breaths
between:
Air and Water
(The Earth hovers within)
between:
Eyes Open and Eyes Closed
We live and die within the blink(s)
between:
Connectivity and Breakage
(Our true desires at the watershed of)
between:
Out Loud and Silent
(One without the other drives men mad)
Again Nat writes:
*we exist,
we edit,
our eddies,
our overlapping lives,
in a never ending series
of Venn diagrams
all delicately balanced
at a single point*
So perfectly stated.
The very eye of God.
Here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=rVKRRzaf21U
Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 1:56 PM UTC
Callow birds
shimmering highlights
of lilacs
on it’s busted mantle.
The lamppost tungsten
is a wax doll candle.
Paraffin paragraphs
jotted down on
clouds in paradise.
Throwing a tea party
at the neighbours lewd front lawn.
Resting place of
my weary head.
Wearing
our mountain tops//your shoulder,
my heart’s
hearth and
watershed.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
Like a toothache its always there
that little bit of doubt that ***** with me.
I forget about it once in a while
on busy days, on days I spend fixing things
but on other days I can hardly breathe,
the weight of my existence oppressive,
the fear that letting go might overwhelm me
or you --or us --or create an awkward angle,
a weapon to wield in future wars.
I know you wonder where I go
and if I knew
I would have already shown you
instead I frown
to hide the fact that I am happy.
You are everything I’ve always wanted,
your vulnerability sincere
of course you know I’d never hurt you
but how can you tell
through the fog of my hiding?
You say you know me like no other,
you see behind my eyes,
you see my inner workings,
you hold my heart in your hands
and still I pretend to be in control,
invincible, invulnerable.
l rely on music too much to touch my soul
And I sense you sometimes wish you were
the music so you could touch my soul
but you already are and you already do.
I’d give you my soul but honestly
I’d rather you take it by force,
tie me down and **** me, but time
the great teacher tells you that
in that watershed moment
an awful lot could go wrong.
I want to promise you it would be fine
but I can’t. I want to give in and
let you overtake me passionately,
overrun me sexually, I can feel
the blood flow, I imagine your soft lips,
your eagerness, don’t ever let me
discourage that part of you.
But isn't it selfish that I would ask you to carry on at
the peak of the universe with one foot in heaven
and one foot in hell with no guarantees either way?
Like a spark to dynamite my fuse when lit might run
or walk, take its time, fizzle out, rush to finish
no one knows, least of all me.
You only want what is yours by right
I want you to want it as well
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Deep on the other side
of the loom .
The other side of
a dangerous smile.
Stands the one who
knows all my lurid secrets .
Barefoot in a homespun dress
one hand against the wall.
Water runs shallow
over the rocks
across the fields .
Crickets chirping in the
cool night air .
A thousand moments
swirl over us .
An ancient wind carries
our secrets.
Rolling waters ,
crickets in our ears
suddenly we were young
and in the mountains again.
Broken compromise
and forgiveness
to balance the passion
and the need .
Blood and roses ,
a sweet kiss from
the dragon .
Laughter is the lyric,
Love is the music
a watershed melody
that never gets old .
We are lost in the
recession of time .
As three quiet birds
try to throw shadows
on our love .
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
You said I had a face like
cinder blocks at sunrise:
Ash grey staining
red in the ending night.
The late winter cold
leaked down into my bones.
You pulled my hood up,
kissed me once and walked home.
I was a weak
kneed floater
that night.
It was a month to forget buried heart dents and debts.
You let me ride on the back of one more losing bet.
The deck's cut,
it's raining
outside
If I had
one more card
tucked up my sleeve, I'd lay it down
you wouldn't play
'cuz your hand's weak
Game's no fun. Folding. Heading straight out the door
Cashed in your chips and that's fine.
I'll take off and try to stay dry.
Your living room was greyscale
blue and white at midnight.
Ash on my tongue,
had X's in my eyes.
I'll choke down the bile
building up in my throat--
this mouth full of crow.
I'll walk out, grab my coat.
from your couch
turn the **** and
I'm gone.
It was a month to forget buried heart dents and debts.
You let me ride on the back of one more losing bet.
Kick up my heels, over pavement, walk home.
Half-rain and half-snow. Half a mile left to go.
the jig's up
and our steps were
all wrong.
Let's take this
time to find
some ground for standing. Thawing out,
I'll leak away
with the meltwash.
One more week draining to the Columbia
and your front step'll be dry.
...and your front step'll be dry...
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
i feel like something is lost
something that has no name
no colour
no smell
i was shown my face today
i had to hear
what you did to me
i had carried myself
without crutches or aids
i had trodden quietly
where i could
i feel an immense loss
for the innocence you *****
the love you choked
the gifts you broke
if this is what i escaped,
why do i feel like grief?
i am cold
here
now
i dont want to remember
what you did
but i cant escape it either
the bloodlust in your eyes
the ****** in your hands
the physcial hurt
you bestowed upon me
i trusted you
with my life
and you throttled it
untill it died
i am stronger than then
i hope i am stronger than then
i think i am stronger than then
please, god, let me be stronger than then
why do i feel like something has died?
when i have won by leaving your abuse?
maybe,
the death of my self-image
the mask i thought had worked
they saw through it all
and they knew
that you were drowning me
and now they see
how i am shining
away from your shadow
maybe, now
i can have my watershed
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 8:09 AM UTC
Blue rain downpour.
My suffering soul.
At first only mist then
come onerous swells.
Ticker tick-ticking
retorting the angst,
I heave and I shudder
in fear of what comes.
A palpable mirage.
The peaceful torrent.
My martyr’s quest.
Redolent of
barb laden roses.
My soul urges detour,
my screams cry retreat,
yet somehow I savor
the scent of this place.
I have fallen,
absorbed by its lie,
to search for enchantment
in grief soaked clouds.
so please leave me be,
acutely aware,
this pain that I love
is my watershed dance.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 2:43 PM UTC
i'll die of a bottle cut my neck lays, drips
Waiting for re sus citation
Wanting rec i pro city
tickle down monopoly
Aye diabolical necklace ripped
Watershed light on Plateau Vistas
Wishful thinking washed up beached whales
Supernovas pangyrize death seen shaded in roses.
i dye bottle called negl i gents
Water wars UN nest estuary
When pet roll eaves seed li n e wall
its cash flow exsiccate ration al
If i could fold lyricigami tighter
you could read or di gest and
your actions would still gather
dust on the shelf of apathy
You would kick coke bottles
filled with hot air and promises
on the sahara ocean shore and
wonder why waves didn't clean
the sand off your feet.
Take your hands off the wall
its time you can't by and by
demarcation in between
life in blood air in water
put oil in sea
what seed grows money
what Sun loves Farther
away to love Slaughter
Earth mother dawn gone
man i p u late den der her
thirst is everything a
mess age nad e bac le
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Voice vibrations Keep them together fasten/
transcending trends fashion/wear on you ever lasting birthday suit/
if the boot fits suit yourself Cinderella/
if you lose it
the truth reflects in the mirror/
full of suspense save the dramatics/
chasing after the light a foreshadow/
all the hype ain't write anticlimactic/
ring around the Rosie/
plagued million ways to die hyperbole?/
a watershed moment
pivotal talk is affordable/
But those that inscribe
the inside of ones mind/
from pictures form designs which illicit and describe/
can alter mankind/
priceless
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC