In lesser day I'll float into colourless atmosphere and my latest form as a marionette will sweep like a timeless snare into wonders of a sweet breathing thing;
And on a starfall chasing day, combined efforts will be made to keep me active through palsied reckonings by a darling who is also disappearing slowly;
Then, when surrounded by darklings, I think these ether birds will miss the blue bite:
Visuals which have deluged me into thinking, -- believing tis' a book, and, therefore, is a writer's work to decimate:
The self which was forged by such pious on a constructed tremor, like the whole nature in me put together, along the sky that levitates:
Without touch, made for fair tinkering for us to escape the choke of grey hands
By dressing comedic and collecting anecdotes from knaves rich and poor working in films --
And, us, madmen, will take the discounted marriage to heart and keep it on a cubicle:
As in the mean time our lust redouble as we move our hands for another gong and make it a memento while we are here.
And, holding on, we'll keep our search to abrogate this easily: when our depress soul fail to change positions and fall on a morbid roll,
When tramlines at a familial outing get us to the mortuary through insomniac hills;
Where our lethargic bodies will lay naked from slieght of the bright side of our formative years, which even a fool could've seen;
But then, no madman with an elephant brain would've pandered for death to be a dead man's charity -- which we can't be too fond of, or does happen to dig gravel;
But dissipates by wants to go tomorrow the way we become: not unique in anything,though sundered by countless possibilities tomorrow and thousand past days.
