Boiling hissing floating sickly
Made collision tongues simple
Them through flick enimies
Class sections airs become
For its all a war
Car park replication sit
unproductive upper filters eat
Thing Moment past farts
Waits potential apes died
Boiling made them class
Hissing collision through sections
Floating tongues flick airs
Sickly simple enemies become
For it’s all for war
Car unprotective thing waits
Park upper moment potential
Replication filters past apes
Sit eat farts died
Pain. In the darkest places. Seeping, dripping, seeking, eating all it can.
Ice. Falling. Hail from the sky down to the frost covered ground. White, pure, but killing any hopes for spring.
Longing. I’m hearing you speak. Say words at a coffee table. Knowing that you will return to this moment. Knowing this is the moment I will remember in the weeks…
Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.
Little things I remember.
Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had.
Eclipse. Moonshine.
Water. The lake. Roaring waves. Iceland. Dark smiles.
Juxtaposition, and it’s still a hot coffee I’m drinking. Another morning. I’m here. I can still here you. It doesn’t feel fair. But since when was the goddess fair? She made both the grass and the snake hiding in it. Or just perhaps the precursors. The soup that makes our reality. The memorial service.
The ducks. The lake. The Lacertae.
Purple Heat beats heavyweight record
Legs of steel, stew filled stomach
Tapping grey leaves, strapless breeze
The cords fully from overflowing swords
Reel after reel, old films rewarded still
Cheese keystone eves, casino knees
Our uncomfortable history
Little drips of it come out
From this pancake stack some seem to want to approve of
Just plain pancakes they want and will send it back
But no matter
The chef tried to do their best
Tried to scrape it again
Mix it through twinges of pains
Lest, we forget that the place is not what we know
Replace the chef
Serve the pancakes again
Uncomfortable history first tries to drip
But can’t
The pancakes taste so plain
No one, questions if the source can ever be made again
A dip for a dollar, a coin in your eyes
Bore onto our gold beads
Explain dolphins to your alien friends
Was on a balmy silver day
Lasting tinctures of single strands of sunlight on whispers of clouds that drip to our outstretched tounges
Quality or sorority, collars and chains
Meaning if this law, this isn’t a brittle magic draw
Drip into dollars, ravens claw
Do we all know the mysteries of Elenor?
Rather than this price, energy is just the working might
A city has but branches of the commoners
Paved over with the solid tiles
I’m only inside their nests observing their movements, obsessions right and left
They seem to like to spread them up and out
Build a metal roof and add more cement
Move around like ants though none is the queen
They seem to congregate just to be teamed
Every one of these nests is a little different
Some have tall metal buildings in which they seem to collect their food and then go to smaller ones they sleep in
Others mix them in almost chaotic ways
But never are they confused by this the locals seem to just imbue the knowledge to younger ones
Occasionally they travel between the nests, sometimes to visit, sometimes to stay
Today I noticed they use little lights to help guide them in their ways
Are they afraid of the dark or just unable to see?
