Lacertae

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

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. 

Arrowheads, falling asleep

Black wheatgrass is the dark blue storm

Sleeping arrowheads longing to morn

Juice of the corpses 

mortuary sorted 

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

Blue walls, wood doors, shouldn’t call

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 

Winning lace

Crumble the craze

Apples drowned in plague 

Ringing ringing gongs

Shouldn’t call 

Reckless

Full house 

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

To throw 

Arrived by their inhumanity 

Furiously battled 

Curing all down 

Like helpless cattle

Hated by 

Thinking gone

Nothing but rage 

Till the moment they stop 

Sadness then comes like a 

full stop

Grasshoppers flags

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?

City Ant

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 
Off-peak vulnerability 

Searching my own, fragile abilities 

Consume my thoughts, actions and associated teas 

Acrid lonelyness insisted

I’m

Bathed

In a statement 

The acrid 

Stink

The acid lonelyness

I’m not like that 

I’m not sure what I am

Bells toll on your words

Acrid days 

On the insisted distance 

I’m lonely. Not one of each of the nine.

I’m not even one of those who have

Or haven’t

Where do I belong? 

Called. Cast. Culled. Places like a spit.

Fires on my skin

The acrid

Arid days

Insidious minds

They, tell, me, to….

Survive.

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

I’m loneliness

So I wander

Wander and call

Forme kind to answer 

Their are none. None here. 

My acrid lonelyness insisted 

Black letter day

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 

The light can be

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

Ghostly mouthes

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?