The dark scarab of your eye is a solitaire it hums the gaptooth west it sings the anonymous hymns over the heretic’s wheat. I know it is pretty I am sure it is a dream the waters make sense of. I swim your fear beside the blood our legs under the shade of the sumac. I am no angel no beetle and in certain aural nerves of light I incant the deep however. Where are we soul in the density of things? Soon we’ll be bewitched won’t we? I only hope at the end there is a river.
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thoroughly gorgeous.
this was stunning:
"The dark scarab of your eye
is a solitaire it hums the gaptooth west
it sings the anonymous hymns
over the heretic’s wheat."