Where flap the tatters of the King
The void isn’t colorless. It’s something out past violet in the skein of impossible colors only mantis shrimp can see. An inky gloom of hydrangea, azalea, and nightshade. Charcoal green of midwinter rot. Pink of a weeping wound. Heat lightning blue. The skies are rancid river water. The void isn’t silent, but the screams echo […]
Separate hues are weNaught distincts us from the mosssave eons of family tree The world is queer and we are nothingbut shades of fag.Distant faxes of the first shocked beginning,of the innocence of EdenBefore we knew from rags We are distinct, be only so manyfaces to go around.We echo each other in flesh andsympathetic neurons […]
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