Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.
Little things I remember.
Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had.
Pentagram, in a logical place.
Never, ever, even being.
Your words that saved me. And these little things I do.
Pain gone. That’s a comfort.
I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile.
Desolation the empty. Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting.
Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain?
The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time.
Yours, to breif.
Black wheatgrass is the dark blue storm
Sleeping arrowheads longing to morn
Juice of the corpses
Standing at the camp
Humors, bile and can’t
It’s hard to see the souls of dead
Trying and waiting bled
Juice of the corpses
loose faithful mortals
Black wheatgrass wearing the hailstorm
A dress from a maelstrom
A wasted crop for all
Shuffling blank space
Filled out my mind
Maze and stars gaped
Fluid acrid staples
Bodies fell on Naples
I’m done trying for empty beds
I’m sure they’ll heat the songs
Pallid gentle gongs
Such blue walls
I’m sinking in wooden doors
I’m drinking my day
Crumble the craze
Apples drowned in plague
Ringing ringing gongs
Ace of clubs
In the streets and on the bus
Lightning fired from hearts
Speed frothing at the mouth
Rooted in the deepest pit of the minds
My word are they crazy?
Hitting, smashing, raging
Expending dangers like apples thrown against you
One might hurt
They have hillsides full of this
Rage filled apples
Arrived by their inhumanity
Curing all down
Like helpless cattle
Nothing but rage
Till the moment they stop
Sadness then comes like a
Down by the course dirt lane
The hard presence of the pebbles
Cutting the hot sun baked grasses
It’s grasshopper, working to raise the littlest flags
His tiny little empty empire has hard times
Drought and floods, growth and death
They both come as a hash brown
Sand wasps and birds seek him out
Each with a different evil agenda
If either are successful his empire ends
Nothing left but his little flags
To be rotted out next flood
Or burned by a forever sun
Grasshopper has to raise his flags
To bring a mate
Will his family be a reality?
Straw sipping ice tea
Forget my feelings, please
Simple sugars, trembling and fuller
Buy more and search again
Just a city ant
In among many
Scrabbling every day
Searching my own, fragile abilities
Consume my thoughts, actions and associated teas
In a statement
The acid lonelyness
I’m not like that
I’m not sure what I am
Bells toll on your words
On the insisted distance
I’m lonely. Not one of each of the nine.
I’m not even one of those who have
Where do I belong?
Called. Cast. Culled. Places like a spit.
Fires on my skin
They, tell, me, to….
My acrid lonelyness is insisted
Like a ghostly connection
I’m not going to be meeting perfection
Misreable kingdom of sticky things that hit
Turning a blind
So I wander
Wander and call
Forme kind to answer
Their are none. None here.
My acrid lonelyness insisted
In my infamy
I neglected my corespondence
I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person
I’m replying to you, oh black one, for your letter doth take a certain amount of vile.
I’m not sure, of the trials you have been through. Know that as a wizard I do now only see things as I can get to them.
Though your quest, and questions are likely to be arduous. I’m sure if you, Vincent, are clear of your intentions. The best may come. Hear are the answers I found. I hope if you find them in good stead:
Fine comes arfter a whole
White rocks on the seaside
Every unicorn is a blue whale
Chicken feet hurt, as much the Hawks
Foxes dig, hide their tresures
A smile is worth only your hope
Justice eats her own heart
A katabisis does not need to go downwards
Hate is my favorite song
Warm bodies were recovered in the fourth forest
Letters sent by air, are not going anywhere
Drops of blood, Searing in the lights
Shunted forward by dry winds, efforts to breathe
Slow rough teeth
Coughing, cups of phlegm, hate
Wishing for the night, respite from heat, but just as dry
Cry, I no longer do that
Whispers of a long autumn
Gained from a sultry voice
Speaking out in epic airs
A cloud of smoked mouths
Cracking the cackling eternal ether
Torn clothes, flag still waving
But deeply drunk of the well of lies
Do once again, we listen?