The boiling blackcurrant’s sipped; thrown.
“Avast!” the axe-fall blade, abrupt, demanded death-industrial: it called, it falled, found its fortune to be laid upon the wharfway stone.
The past: t’was present, as the present: t’was pushed passed. The world: t’was floating ‘midst the passing future.
The girl knelt and stared at the grains, all gathered, of the hot, compacted sand, lowering her right hand slowly t’ward its canvas-surface.
Sunrise, then, o’er the city of the sceptre; dawn about the fort upon the chasm.
Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…
Ten days beyond a city sunrise.
A water flower.
Crocodiles hold union on the marsh.
Upon the breeze, life’s sounds did sail; the people pottered past.
As with those others, I’ll not help you.