Two tidal swells of light ‘n sound awash e’er o’er my senses…
House. Café. Poet.
A dragon’s hide.
The wisps of orange marshal light amidst the blue.
Now sparse the signs of entropied life sit, floating despite th’impossibility.
The pane that stands between millennia.
Creation pained; a look that’s lost, or hid…
Shape ‘n send forw’d the currents riv’ring by! With your time-warped scraps the bed doth lie suffused!
Ferry me upriver.
No calligraphy you’ll lay that isn’t art.
Now riddle it with chaos: muddied fury lit by mob-borne flame.