TUMULT
Lying in wait, a trivial askance knocks over a rug and indemnifies
it’s identity. One touch can’t be wishes, but immediately a rotten hope soars
through the door and a mask betrays the keeper. Wilting, informal, luscious as
above, an instinct pulls soughted, through, like a ladder. Medium intern turns
regnum again and a mist descends like lightning. Footnotes take a breath to
notify the leader; a mission feat of turbulent whimper. Accosting an accordion
of snake –like distance, the protuberance utters a henceforth and
shall-we-meet-again. Pages walk the talk, long and unravenable, glossy and
tinsel technique. Mighty fine usher of deity to the frank ground, graph and
cough-like, like loops in maybe.
Circumcision.
NTF290116
No comments:
Post a Comment