Goodnight

Goodnight
Sedentary horses march through dreams with guffaws of humility joints, mechanical as rust blistering gear-locked boneyard monuments, screeching sardonic thrusts, at the base of every free turn while every good boy does fine, and doe eyes of the stranger curves slap the retina shift into overdrive. Speakers serenade traveling lyke wakes by means of fervent dirge, skipping, refracting each stilled crackle into a universe, like a whip, like a forged victim bleeding, their voice shaking, bewildered, work worn eyes tearing, empires collapsing into scattering neros that dissipate into historical fetish memories! Can you move from your place? Can you accost me without silence? The chair, the desk, the couch the bed; we've shared them all in our spring gardens, the smell of must never violating good health as new habits formed. We asked caprice to define whim for volition, and promised to to tell spontaneity. Then we crawled out of the loop like newborne enzymes that lacquer frivolous leaves to make their trees rustle “autumn” to the season changer while bloodcells throbbed, each an individual tremor for the ultimate seismic psycho-telegraphic exchange. Insta-matic incession, a tidal wave pulsing, the bleat of dead sheep, moody residual ghosts pleading for comfort and sanity to the steel walls of preserve that stand erect amid this combat zone. Goodnight, she says. Thank you, the sentiment is ornamental presence in the about-face of unknown's footsteps through such a motionless plight.