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Sensations Within Each Tiny Eternity - part 9 of passage 3 from section 2 vs 1 of chapter 7

Her Shade Tolls
sound is the color of word, ocean air, broach, embark, tawny bleach fade, dirt clouds scud deep within the rotating rock, her name is Brisance Of Detonated Horizons, her name is Frail Stone Mountain, a rod runs from the tail bone of a promising nascent rose to the last rise of hill, a thick iron sword cutting stride, lain in the field, the gait of many rodents, each one exactly the same, they make up the same enormous horse, identical identity gathered, a fleshy field of animate rising from the inanimate, one leathery century nobody can ride, the recalcitrant beast, the feral seeker, the addled wisely white flower of purity, a cauldron of stillness that remains long after forgotten wars surrendered to the dull furling of it's velvety petals, swimming through the thick of rancid smog, the virus that is DNA, the sweet effluvium of crawling toxins, the brash immunity poison that festers boldly, drop by drop, turning human into sickly vapor, the filled cart drawn by stealthy legs, the neighing of a beast's labor is dripping red, drying quickly from the heat of solid winter flames, dancing icicles impaling the breath of my empty mouth, these forging entities caress certainty by stabbing each nerve with the sharp hooves of their pedipals, instantly rocket still, jutting solidly, motion monuments, icons of another empty color, lined up war prisoners awaiting cleansing, the revolving crust, it's water air, green squeals, blue shrieks, all the browns, the tans, there's a blustery scraping of feet crossing tissue spans of our jumbled millenniums; there is no sedated dove, there is no vacant unveiling, no perpetuation halting the fluid rolling ever indebted to easily greased camber connections! In the mirage of aftermath there is the rumored certainty of “unknown” where seeds inseminate corpses, and the death of alleged entirety is all the we “know”-- we are the grand lack, there can be no other lack, hence i longingly count the row of knotty hills lined down the soft stretch of her blade's curve with the quiet violence of my sharpening rod's painful palliation, i swear to uphold fear in the name of lady, from one taunted world to another; boughten breakfast, dismal images flickering, dank commercial expeditions, tolerating check-out lines... in the presence of our exploring hands that coax the purling neuro-kisses to roil fluidly amid it's the exclusive choreography of spontaneous ecstasy, powerful vows masticate fervently upon the tradition of noble virtues, encroached property with a kept promise of violation is diced into bite sized pieces, the chore of stagnation-duty easily overpowers and barely perceptible filament of honest desire, the annual purling of forced serenity that mechanically captures idyllic moments in cages for upload entry are lost maps found on tangled highways, the human right for and by the party on the first part to said banal cancers herewithin stated within here for the second party on the first part in the name of permanent reversible emotional bondage is the single conquering plague that commits all existence to it's raw belly-scraping crawling pace of “humanary” progress toward the maw of purported faithful beauty... yet her birth lustily grows more fertile with every wisp, her tiny fingers speak softly, her eyes kiss sweetly, her words glisten
Written by Conley (Delling)
Published
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