Gen Tar Fried

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

Lacertae III: Bessemer Cruciballis

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.

Uncomfortable history as a source, and of its addition to the pancake stack

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

Rather than this price

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

City observer 117ATR4

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?