The verse begins and lyrical streaming
out of sight
visceral, like lunar
modules knocking all 52 states
onto a kitchen floor.
Blast off.
Butterfingers.
causing our breakfast to slip into the sky,
contained by a vehicle
of relative stares.
Those inexplicably brief moments.
Magic succeeds in conjuring up such miracles,
where are the orchestrated predictions solidified by consequence?
Just taking breaks.
Snap.
An admiration of swift, bold delicacies precedes the ballet.
Amongst disorder we all dance.
Dance as the performers sing in a merry song of many things.
Unfold.
Now...
Expend our patience by absconding an interference,
be content in the motions.
Be just,
this once,
be just.
we'll allow your ship to sink,
if you allow this ship to sink.
Anchor in and drag us deep through yonder,
Sputnik tucking Us in with a tickle under chins.
Dormant.
No comments:
Post a Comment