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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Saturday, November 22, 2014


There’s a shadow on my back
A beam of light creeping into my skin
A turning head echoing deep in the distance
I raise my arms
Disintegrate the earth
Celebrate a puff
There is grass
Grinding In the background
Memories cause heat from friction
A pain visible
Standing right before my shut eyes
There is slashing of arms
There is a no, unsaid
There is grass
Sliding down an incline of a thousand miles
Against the breeze
A cold slap of reality
Choking the poison in
Sending it burrowing
Into veins and nerves
There is smoke
There is flesh
There is grass
Gathering numbers
Multiplied into bright bombs of
Botched up countdowns
There is waiting
There is breath held
There is space
For more
Inhale a blizzard
There is grass
Nod your heads everybody
Synchronized stupidity
Silver shits
Summoned by the Supreme
Sitting, staring straight into Hell
There is the Divine
There is a farce
There are realities
There is grass
Not green, gray.