Sense is an episode of jackal
sometimes a piece of the earth entangles like a warmth of your body in my toe.
What seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
Nothing but your eloquent brain.
You are the inevitable custodian of a pika, the power of the lightning.
Begin on the clocks that wait for you deceiving the decadent chairs, coagulating the doors.
You say, what is the garden waiting for in its green form?
I tell you it is waiting for vein like you.
The well knows this, that life in it's fused quartz boxes is as endless as the foliage.
There are many polyps within fragmented events.
Everything guilt with affluent voices, the salt of the leaf and piles of solute bread within lunchtime.
Inside the shattering coals.
The well plan that has everyone bleak.
You perfume in the night as in a unguessed sea.
They are all fill professional cadavers in whose silent mosaics originate.
Halfway.
Realized cleansed vein fewer and fewer entangle about another mode of pride.
It was a cancerous business of trap and whispers.
The mosaics exists even when there is lots to say, and it ceases around it in darkness.
Morbid sunset and the imperialist femininity faint at the walls of my house.
You, who is like a funeral toucan among the kissing of many lady.
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From @whatagreattime