“iNFiNiTE BLUE WHiLE ORANGE SURROUNDS"

ARE MY BEGiNNiNGS ALL GONE;

TOO MANY MiDDLEGROUNDS FOUND LACKiNG?

A BLUE BORN OF AN ORANGE

HACKED…BLACKENiNG LiKE A COALMiNERS’ SOLES…RELAXiNG.

NO…iTS THE END OF (CERTAiN) THiNGS i SMELL…

THE FEEL OF A LAST MATCH TOO MUDDLED DUE TO MANUFACTURiNG,

THE SOUND OF A LAST FULL MOON TOO FULL…

BLiNDiNG…DiSTRACTiNG…

THE TASTE OF A LAST ViSiON…

BiRTHDAY CANDLES TOO CUDDLED GLUED TO A SAPLiNG.

… …

…

A SAPLiNG WHOSE RiNGS NEVER…EVER…MADE iT BACK AROUND.

TOO MANY BENDS…DUMPSTER FiRES FED iTS BRUSHFiRES ON AN OLYMPUS WiND FOUND…

TUNNELED FOR TRAPPiNG FEVERED, FERAL, MORTAL THiNGS…

GUTTURAL, UNUTTERABLE THOSE WHiSPERiNG QUEENS OF AN iMPERFECT PYRE.

OH, THE PART iT PLAYS iN OXYGEN WE COULD NEVER SURViVE WiTHOUT THAT SPARK iN OUR EYES…

YOU KNOW THE ONE…ASPiRiNG TO BE (OR NOT TO BE)...

KiNGS…PRiNCES…THiEVES?

ARE WE SPARKS FROM AETHER’S FLAME…

OLDER THAN DRAGON TONGUES

TAMED BOLDER BY BREATHS HOLDiNG ONTO EMBERED RUNGS.

A DEATH BY DROWNiNG STARTS NEAR OUR LAST FLAME

WHERE SUN NOR LUNAR MOUNTAiNS WON’T SAVE OUR LUNGS…

AT THEiR LEAST, NO MORE SO THAN THAT DEAR SAPLiNG DiD,

MY SONS.

DEAD AND BURiED iN THAT BREATH STOLEN FROM THE GODS.

WAiTiNG ON TWO SLiCES OF TOAST TO EMERGE…BURNT…DONE…

COiNS FOR THE BOATMAN WHO JUST WANTED PUMPERNiCKELS.

ARE MY BEGiNNiNGS ALL GONE;

TOO MANY FOREGROUNDS FOUND CRACKiNG?

A BLACK MOURNiNG A BLUE BLACKJACKiNG…

CAROTENE-KEROSiNE, FALSELY TRUE…

LiKE A SUNRiSE AFTER A DiNER WAiTTRESS’ SiNGLE-MALT SON iS FOUND SNACKiNG

USiNG A SAPLiNG’S LiGHTNiNG BOLT…LUCKY CHARMED…A CEREAL BLUE...iNFiNiTE WHERE ORANGE ABOUNDS.