Wise things are coercive--
Blooming in fields lost to sons, bell-casters,
The flowers on the blue curve are a sign of a season
Shortening, having colored
The pink inner thrills on those
studious fingers feast on the
Such a world of lies--just listening will
Stop your heart.
Last season a fat baby rose from his cradle,
The lava-folds of his tender back to the field,
Unfriendly to the hands that made him laugh.
Skinamarink - When I was little, me and my younger brother would play a game where we’d stare at each other’s faces in the dark until we transformed into hideous monst...
2 days ago