When the weak and fearful gain power and respect, most usually through politics and false rhetoric, they generally seek to hold offices for their own ends. Threads twined down from the top of the eye and each fancies themselves a pyramid alone. No one is an iland, except all the ones on their iphones. Ilidan knows more than Achilles, it's all good, I know for whom the bell tolls, there is only one enunciation emanating from death's other kingdom. A women with her eyes covered by a white sash walks running her hands on the cold and slightly damp walls of a catacomb, every brush of her hand leaves red paint on the stone, and every step sinks into the mind with lithe plash, soft as a gnome. Catacomb Periculosum.
While walking back from the forest tonight at sundown I cut through the Kundert's gravel lot. It's nestled against the inside of the bend like a puddle. Five big rigs parked neatly, one engine exposed, the silo closer to the road, and the shed, closed for the evening. Two faded yellow tonka trucks lay haphazard on a drift of smaller rocks and sand, left by a kid playing right next to the real thing. This is farming country and he is a young boy like me, or clearly, I was a young boy like him, I just never learned to work machines--I learned to read. Dr. Seuss and timeless children's books were my tonka trucks next to the silo.
I found a golden ticket and it reads: the wind in the birch trees realign a chaos breath through me. Intellect is more than one's own design, my father's name is Stephen, call me Icarus in flight, too high, and falling--all in one moment. The only moment, the moment when you die, the dance between existence and what has yet to exist in one fatal flight. Art has a price no amount of credit could ever buy, I remain the same guy, unapologetic and blind, and I've never been so close as I've been tonight. Justice is blind and the deepest places have always been the asylum of liberty.
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