Clear as tasteless water drained of taps of clouds

by silver faucets declosed,

sheets as shields render deafmute recognizance of all directionless

darts demeaning bold

verbiage the progenic spewthrift foul of dying souls.

The deathknell of all slander mock-histrionic yet untold

by plethoric workaholic aholike micey eel defined as snakey itty bits of worm for bait and switch their oddball subterrainic lives in brainrancit pits unnerved like a Gösta sinfonia lento libretto if only were sung by Ebba Lindqvist herself

alone “det enda”–“the one, the only one,” the only hapless lacking,

for nothing

remains in that proud pacifist land of springtide ice but good will suffice til all is still, unlacking….

Related Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *