Spires of the sun pulsate and ache throughout the continuity of the void,
Through collapsed, weaning light. A limbic light whose fulminating aura is felt
Though never touched. I can never feel empathy for anything except for a failing thing.
Crossroads dim in this contingent vacuity. A devil touched me. Birthed me, brandished me.
Though my target eyes smile breath varnished. A tragic nudity, a stillborn. Palatial saturation.
Channels of decay. A fuming tension puts a barrier between my life-stream and other currents
Which flow parallel. The flow of days onward is a collapsible echo. Morph into an annihilated
Dream. The burning sensation of moon rain flitting the planet. To master our capacities
Fuller and fuller on command. To put my dream on this planet.