When arid toil and liquid river time
Fall below the smell of blue
Construct an incident carnival
Where stormy post night
Hurdles earthward
Through solitary rhythm and stalking music
A sterile paridise
That creates dream desire against
the grey canvas
Those taunt muscles expand and retract
Clawing to create new idea
But a labor-filled year passes and no progress is evident
1 comment:
Ohhhhh~
Here you are. :D
Real neat stuff btw. I have some envy for you~
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