We Shall See
The horizon flattens the distance but the distance prevails. The hollow body of insignificance presses on the will and demeanour of even the wealthiest of solitudes. And their dichotomy stresses the fractures and pulls apart the tediousness of the heavenly mundane; weighing heavily upon the opinions held in check by none but the strongest of the feeble and the wisely disenfranchised. This is our revolution. This is our time. These are our hours. These are our homes. This is our land.
Green growing. Freshness fueled by the fruit of the earth. Flowing upriver. Falling from the leaves falling to the heavens. Faltering full of feather touch and tender columns of blending bleeding colours. Territorial train wrecks and political prowess. Backlash of bereavement to the dam. And the damned. Yearning for desires, desiring one last thing. Wanting not want. On windowless huts. Of lost kingdoms on the baked cracked mud of ancient ponds.
Flow. The feeling and the movement. Flow. The desire for pure desire. Flow. The never-ending energy that energizes entanglements particularly those quantifiable. Shall we? Let’s. Where shall we? Let’s see.