Alost lone in a wood. Till on the morn of the third sonof porn. Wait till the craven crows of December, alighted and a gleaming, bring creases to a freezing last warm winding road. I'm feeling privy, isolated, knowing projected conceptions Probably unaware the world ends at midnight Tonight, or a minute later visions faulter Inward. In elemental musings on the spirit beneath flesh.
Gray strands come together Swelling in density followed by explosions of clarity.
An amalgam of past experiences Drawing Narrowly, over a legacy, in immortal continuity, To hallowed greeting of a newly birthed epiphany. And how we discover bodies lying naked and confused. Multitudes of history, compressed then tossed, amongst the shifting sands. A desert of Justice a lumbering giant with the heart of a saint and greedy eyes. What hidden hand holds in the firmament These distant beacons are strobing hotly eager and lonely.