your hemisphere is weeping,it is ach-ing.






















































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
his
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
is today.
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!