Direct, Debit, Debts.
Codings on the checks, Hairs stunned on the neck, Cast nets get webbed, Casting of a match of shoal.
Fresh waters, New swimmers, Fresh collisions.
Direct, Debit, Debts.
Loops of the nets, Time is the debt, What’s there to spend, Anything that’s left ?
Under sea mountain range, A potted road for all to sea, Notes flow from ear to mouth, … Oh how I’d love to catch a glimpse of your life that you maybe.
Direct, Debit, Debts.
Warm light, pasted nights, glistening upon the curved edged line, of sight,
Nutmeg induced inflected irises, Cast back Amphitrite falls, Intertwining with one’s Lacrimal Papilla,
Chalk white, just might, Performing the inevitable, of being pale and transpare.
Oh how blanched and waxen it is, to the oh bawling palette, of becoming Eros.
Absorption to foe glaciers of shards, Yet to be proclaimed, and Pro-named, Over brimmed, over ribbed, Laced with the optic nerves, and the words, coming from thy lips.
Trellised, traced eyes, somber upon the 1879’s sun, Seemed within sight of the haze.
Masking and adjutants, Beau’s many mandate’s, In pursuit of luminary Proteus’ pulse.
Aether so fore-feel, Reflecting minor memories, Melting meanders merged.
Orpheus’ candour amorous, Òil is pulled, sits on the unlit dermis, Southern English, mellow tones, Raised hands, moving chased, Essence of hot stone, And cold moans.
Though the candles heart does burn bright, Though the bawling wax slithers down the shaft,
One may come to wonder who may be in town, Fresh up on a crisp autumn’s twilight.
Doth a leaf fall and hit thee, striding through the cobblestone streets,
When in present of a bitter breeze, Thou maketh the most of what thou can breath.
He schleps an umbrella within his hands, in case of yet it’s to become a tearful night.
One’s heels more over, the base of his mahogany brown leather shoes.
Which clipped along the hard materialistic floor, that leads up to the door,
Art one may say that has been engraved, Following through to a classical Victorian book shop’s room.
He, who runs his finger along each individual broken spine,
Does come to realise at any certain time, One’s life has it’s own story to be aligned …
