Rec
π
Derelict attune descending off a cliff. Towering towards the skies. Limitless void. Loft signal. Ink on a stoop. After the passage is done. Look into it and see the light. Ripe season. Minx. Sugar hill dragon foot. Blink where you are at. Is where I want to be. Letβs call it what it is. A bicep. A bestowed upon. Rock on a tombstone wreck.
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πSpeak to me, Over where we have all been, Transient stories awaken in me multitudes, immense fortitude, abiding by the riches of the plants, and leaves that fall to their death to renew the soil, entrenched and obscure. The beating heart of a lion, roaring and engulfing everything it sees, The vast beauty of home, Where we once shared meals and stories that kept us awake. Fever foaming at the mouth, phlemn poisoning our lungs with citrus taste, And evolving into air, That sets the mood, Forever as it may seem, Is a line in snow, shining, reflecting the source, buried beyond the pines. Bodies of insects after battle, Stirring the flask, Looking and exploring a new age, A mighty sword of coincidence.A single beam balancing the sprawl, lubricating and succulent, It is a pass. It is a soldierβs wake. The collarbone rests on top of the sea, waiting to saw through the clouds.
Rec
πItβs a rumble of sorts. Diminishing as it might be. To bask in the moonlight. Release of the melody. Trudge through the mud of philosophy. It encapsulates every being. It takes a hold of me. Releasing its seed and letting the ruins of trepidation run wild. Look ahead of what you are. It is a church of leisure. The breast that feeds you. Lends its ear to the ground. I smack myself in the dark. Only to find you there, staring at me intently. Leave me behind.