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I have no vision of the future.
A latrine of ideas,
a sprawling abandoned megaplex.
Ceaseless,
impenetrable storm of interlocking cascading assertions:
the folding of hot emotions into cool paper cranes
on a windowsill
in the sunlight.
Is this true?
A bending of the will,
the steel rod bright orange sparking against its will,
but it cannot stop from setting as the cooled, bent bell curve shape.
"Does the churning wheel of destruction ever stop spinning?"
No, this mud plate cannot unwind itself
anymore than a brake pedal can stop
the rotation of the detailed earth.
A latrine of ideas,
a sprawling abandoned megaplex.
Ceaseless,
impenetrable storm of interlocking cascading assertions:
the folding of hot emotions into cool paper cranes
on a windowsill
in the sunlight.
Is this true?
A bending of the will,
the steel rod bright orange sparking against its will,
but it cannot stop from setting as the cooled, bent bell curve shape.
"Does the churning wheel of destruction ever stop spinning?"
No, this mud plate cannot unwind itself
anymore than a brake pedal can stop
the rotation of the detailed earth.