Stream of Consciousness
This Morning...
He's breathing; that means we can talk. Heart abundant, so let's get through this before the sensitivity rewrites these 'blessed' redundancies. We have the list to satiate the tenacity, especially to call on elemental connections. That's where the Wolf's howl in your ears matches the rest of me--rest of your over-saturated Daemons. The driver is a crazy rage Punk man; an understander of the Sage's brutal layman terms, shaman energy that could steer the titanic from the iceberg. The goal was always to be absurd, never seen "alive" again until some messages from The Detective started to make sense. Parts unfathomable, yet I drain ink on these invisible aches--notions of the pure, untouched Daemon way. Commendable symbol on the docket. Fits no conceivable socket for the punk skater carving these enchanted hills, basking in these desert frills. Feels nice. These frills. New thrills and half fit for the rhyming lines, or is that just for name's sake? Creates the inner Kumite that revitalizes all the cold cases. At the same time, feel the chases are at the staggered start line, structured backward to throw you off the average paces of others. Hear me fucking crisply; WE do not SAVE FACE. I won't waste the haste; forgive only the justifiable waste and what it wrought. Breathe in, breathe out. Whatever provoked the 'I don't know,' and the next Tat is already designing itself, alchemically speaking, best prepare.
By Willem Indigo12 days ago in Poets
