Just another day, and to be sure, it is.
One that I am grateful for having lived, in fact, there is more to that “statement” than meets the naked eye; fawn too a meadow of imagined vines climbing towards the love of frothy hope. Gates to a heaven, taxed with sins.
Heaven is spelt with a silent capital U.
Think about it.
Upon a wooded row, there stood a small insect that appeared. It asking for directions on how to reach the road he asked for. He would not accept my answer, nor the call to my trusted best friend over and over again.
Funny how so many fools suffer the Websters-WebMD Fuqtard misconception that Abide is a passive state, simply.
Fondue logic dripping down the spine, usually is a bad sign about the quality of the company you keep.
Feel your spine.
Do not move, no scratching.
Now close your eyes.
Yes, if I was asked to, but my truest love and companion would be there in all of the trillions of seconds I sense she is, and yes.
Yes, I would.
Wood, you…will do, and I am grateful for you. I have walked across a plane fertilized, stones committing to Semedori and trees remain grateful for the glancing winds of antique trails. Time, the tyrant who is mute, ability surrendered by a will Kings of Kings profess, serpents to the works that all fall, never as mighty as a despair. (*oz link)
Visage, voyage, voussoir castings left for those still eager to find a meaning litter the sacred corners of the cortex and dolomite steeples.
Strike for a match,
strike for a game.
Strike for the rights,
professed by the sane.
Sure, you provide the back, I will strike the purple tip, cuticle of a circumcision reefed with sulfur. The deeper the lick, the deeper the depth of each vertebrae lodged.
Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you Tomorrow.
You know, just a day away.