other worlds than this, other prayers and solemn gestures than these, other voices that speak stranger and absolute, with a ferocity like untamed lions devouring the night, feeble and newborn, one eye a pale crescent, almost not there. are there other fixtures that cling to the vault of heaven and mark progress in the scheme…

there is a wildness on the street, a leopard mentality of machinery and mathematics devised to replace spoken word with that of the phantom tongue, the mind’s rhetoric devoid of purpose. a miserable assortment of movement from here and back again, endless the call to arms of fat eyed malignance that draws on wasted breath,…

bored and dirty, i wish i could play piano and clean up my act. slow thoughts, slow movement, eyes closed for moments strung together with threads of smoke, my hands will never cease. i’d like a drink, thank you, but i’d not move now for any thrist, not for blood, not for love, float here…

it has craned its helixed neck and found cellular towns on the horizon to move over like dark clouds of fury, madness, the storms of ageless transgression. microinhabitants, eyes to the thunderheads with curious wonder, electric thought betrayed by electric non-thought, it spreads its phobia over your town and the world becomes born again in…