he loves gold
Roaming in a little bloodeed gown
in a roaming little town which is happening once - now.
The town is beautified by 1/299792458 delay of light.
Noone's before the gates and noone's beyond the gates and someone is knocking boots into them.
The anankastic bended black figure following you without a move
becomes somehow somewhat whatchamacallit
embodiment of all those grandest things you'd hidden before you were a child
for being afraid; unrevealing; deceitful; not prepared. For sloth?
The pouring sand under the machines made for invalid cherub kids makes you remember your drawback is just the other back of the other side and from there flew
the red scars on a crow stuffed with hooks, those red fragile one-way transit birds.
Step a few steps and you'll turn to vehemence, you'll get some cracks. Shall they feel nice,
like opening all you once raged,
like cutting your old body to let the phlegm take over the soil,
like granting planet's last dinner,
like a farewell kiss that forever lasts.
It is a shame that my crooked hands are the most powerful around here - wherever -
or it's not. I can still handle your sores with care.
A ladder starts too early,
either that or maybe I are not touching you's
the reason
you am not happening.
I'm big.
I do tell.
He who don't stand stand
with hell held high
before his eyes
before he leave.
While Henry Hamilton-Smythe minor (8) was playing croquet with Cynthia Jane De Blaise-William (9), sweet-smiling Cynthia raised her mallet high and gracefully removed Henry's head. Two weeks later, in Henry's nursery, she discovered his treasured musical box. Eagerly she opened it and as Old King Cole began to play, a small spirit-figure appeared. Henry had returned - but not for long, for as he stood in the room his body began ageing rapidly, leaving a child's mind inside. A lifetime's desires surged through him. Unfortunately the attempt to persuade Cynthia Jane to fulfill his romantic desire led his nurse to the nursery to investigate the noise. Instinctively Nanny hurled the musical box at the bearded child, destroying both.
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/Thom Ryng