Following a non manifesting period the fury of stagnant inertia transforms to the self-motivated oroborus, the serpent eating itself in a desirous auto-cannibalism of spirit.

Evolution comes eventually.

Crawlingly.

as we still cry for a Revolution.

Vaulted high, sizzling perfect lines are crack-whipped onto the page and artfully articulated at the symposiums.

But we are creators that DO. A blend of starry-eyed fancy and spitfire catalyzes the quill. Fronds weave wyrds in the air.

Listening in kind brings new association.

And admitting for good that the symbol is dead undermines the premise upon which we are acting.

What I say, what you respond, becomes to us mere clatter.

babble.

chatter.

reflecting a moment that passes by like this one.

or this one.

And we are still here

playing show in tell

pretending in dim light

making beautiful things out of the pain

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