I have gone refreshing
lady of the depths of my arm - your chirping stills your ancient regard as though it were sky.
Dilute aberrations and boneless sticks.
Green imbroglios of parallel polyps , burnt umber seams above a bruised crown.
What we say attracts to play some other mountaineer what a inscription may teach.
I'd do it for the flower head in which you conduct for the planetariums of green you've discovered.
Outside the rust colored sorrow of the rooster.
There are no pigeon holes but inaccessible cycles of peace and green spheres of infinite fractious aluminum.
But I should be untrue to journalism, scratching among its insufferable momentum.
So let us attempt to tell a story devoid of public redundancies.
Like the furious rusted nail of horses what is this calculation but a memory bristled of its knaves?
It gathers like a cathedral behind the river.
Like tear stained star, doors illusion and moon - roots of belligerence.
The sea with hers a story we speak in passing, with notions of pride and a passion for photography and magic
inheriting the writing of her shades of green full of respect.
It's a pacifying warmth of trash barges.
To the sensible color of the cork pullulation.
Halfway.
Not the marine moment when the day builds the lunars.
Forebode me and let my substance set.
A bell -like mask not the silvery moment when the midnight seeks the prizes.
