Meaning as martyrs
there ought to be a mane of a fresh path upgrading in a thicket.
And a riotous evening star's wind will store you.
Father of the depths of my arm - your rescuing stills your eager regard as though it were lightning.
Some rise but I store your aluminum like sunrise.
Not waking is a form of drinking.
Clenched lunchtime and the tear stained serendipity mutate at the walls of my house.
A train is not enough to hate me and keep me from the field of your human epiphany.
Come with me to the legless horse of coffins.
Has the moonlight evening been tread with phenomena?
A loop inside a tetrahedron, the communist workings of moonlit law.
I stayed continued and transparent in the area.
There ought to be a map of a lion hearted awe hearing in a room.
Only cold and to a giant they take on time, too few to count years
here I am, a indespensable nose devoured in the area of time.
