The thunder rising
Or the rain of an ulterior dance
A silent Spring
Or the musings of a spinning wheel
Speak or Ring
Aren't days unreal anyways
And Time a spolied present
Resonant of one (all too well known, all too human) reign
Reduce your skin to skin
Trains of explosive correlations
Release yourself of equality of realism
Or any other anthropomorphic ruler
Look through Other magics
Reduce yourself abstract yourself
Or pray for suspicious underlying
Cranes of spartan pleasure
Your Race is of contrarian
Importance reveal it through
Other bodies on a stage
Or repress it and hide
Since all the red lobsters
Might steal your suicide
So long So long Muses And thank you!
So long flowers whose beauty I silently stole
Feel your poet that small creature
You created nourrished with bones
And ash of superior bodies
Stupidly fall under the noise
of that new religion they
Call themselves desolation
Abhumans or any other word of silhouttes
Reluctantly under that smoke
Still lingers the human
Kick it Kill it burn its key abstraction to cinders Ô
King of Kings I beg my keeper show me an empty head
And I'll flourish boraseous meticulous
So long Muses So long And thank you!