the sea is sapphire coloured and the moon,
is rippling its sentences to us as we stroll, by the merry weather steam;
the created streets of academe.
Florence has created a : masterpiece
ivory hands on ivory keys: are cracking
remained within a world created solely for
a cloudy state of being.
He was moving-backward and forwards throughout fantasy-
the foaming layer...resting upon the shoulders of the ocean,of the sea.
when the mountains show there teethe and send out a snare
we pause our movement:let us just watch this for awhile...
In a tent by my lonesome ,I wait for victory
the pomegranate-moves me as poison weeds,
gracing the entirety of my air,shifts as a murderous breeze.
your moon is regarded by the galaxy
as much as the silver cat,the farmer,the spirit of ophelie's
in the black watery surface:
your hemisphere is aching.
the sins of my soul are seven
the sin upon his is one.
of the Florentine.
this was all from poppy root! this was all a conspiracy!