This Is About You
Cartoon marmalade dripping off carbon trees. Fold, savage, and entice a sneaking pathfinder, wrath-wrought hellfire beneath the annual royal blue plasticine arc over plateaued concrete. Down with the dust rats and smithed iron grates, separating horizons both light and dark. Speak all your numbers and dye all your thoughts. Dye them with different shades of blue and red and brown and yellow and brown and green and structure yourself on foundations more coherent rather than on esoteric systems of ropes and pulleys. You little figurine goddess, icon of fertility. Burn your hellseed. Shred your pearls of doubt. Crystallize whatever it is you find hanging in the air around us and store it at the bottom of a package of cigarettes. Tuck it deep and swing a left up Mayfield road, past the old glue factory, and the third door at street level.
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