mjbanks@swetthamxam
Into my wicked eyes the shadows sink and ravaging the walls of existence steal so many pieces of the light, what ways the comforted seek the peace of parting waves to celebrate the eye of the storm, so many as a question, like the ground below the sea is the sand of broken mountains, like the snow of mountains is the water stolen from the clouds bigger than small nations, and with the rivers the veins of the land the scarecrow ministry will be consumed by the thirsting waving grains another so yet after fact and fancy, and into the story should they overgrow, or until the harvesters.
A postponing of disowning or transition to a start that weak and tawdry poultice of a sick and weary heart, many by the making are the lost and furious candid canids and serpent servants here to lock the broken clock in a trap of illusory construction, and in the moments that this paltry pigeon flutters the spirit of misgiving closes storm around this park, the teacup in the tornado imagining that the sun pouring thru the rain is swallowed by the darkness, or that the radiant immortal energy of the all consuming mother nature shined that silver light only storms bring, to wonder if to take a drink kindly with lemon or mint, where falling mist softens soil to wrest and wreak and wretch and writhe trees of time to toss, if all is lost the sound louder than the known chaos.
The single drop of insanity on the forehead, an ocean wall down mountains falls with winter in the echoless song and strength, without the cold of space but still to watch and players make this timeless cost as clouds trounce the dalliant daze of complicit malaise, which makers merry would not tarry trace however many eggs upon irony’s face, echoing only in minds the oldest days that were never just and throw their waste into the rust, push and waste against the machine with the final mind, like lights in the water, as time unfolds lightning into pillars against the darkness.
Collectors of nothing and as much was shared, in the echoing conspiracy took even more, now to the ossified remains of ancestors, inflated filth abundant too thin to fertilize, and with all of this redundant there is too many to take, in your ties to see the breathing will in their least be the most, when there is nothing else to say.