Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Is the moon to grow
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
Covering the land—
In the woods, close by,
Seized from creation by nonentity,
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Where, as I discover as I go through
Everywhere, utterly.
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
Winds blow sharp, what then?
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Dim, and die tonight?
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Is the moon to grow
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
Covering the land—
In the woods, close by,
Seized from creation by nonentity,
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Where, as I discover as I go through
Everywhere, utterly.
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
Winds blow sharp, what then?
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Dim, and die tonight?
No comments:
Post a Comment