(no subject)

[deep_inthe_high]

consound

the light of masses
make up the depth of poetry
these words are sounding
flinging round upset
that time cannot hold bar
on leviathan ideas

(on peace be sound the fiery lips
of those who do not think)

i can see an explosion
made up of the visions of children

forward are those who do not embrace
our earthly limitations

for prejudice is not an art
but a force of listless humannature
for all that virus--
(and what progression but death?)
--our words can hold it at bay