I bleed oceans of sand. Frozen angels shuttle through the veins of my nights. Panic flutes hide the absence of Time in drawers of desert. Let me reachf or the bent fork of tomorrow's past. Images of nada the dark alibis of tomorrow.
Instant survival leaves no dregs in the coffeecups of out lifes.
The falls of boiling Time annul the abstracted shadows of substance. When it becomes too dark, close your eyelids. There is no point . You are the bow, the string's your senses, bared wires. Archer take no aim.