The shaft. hollow. gelatinous. Salty, but sweet.
a protruding bite
yet all the while a state of purity so relaxed presumes like a
butterfly carried by the presumptuous wind....
Stewing moments, a mirage
law grazing, trough longing
syrup slashing, strokes
oozing vacant rooms
the words left unsaid...an arrowhead thought
hidden source...an espoused embrace
time dangles in front and behind, then there is pain to every
mysterious line crossed from a corner out in the galaxy,