(click title to go back)
Take me in waves from the (d03wf0) Island shore,
Drift me faraway in currents and in storms sore,
Bury me in sands deep of the distantest trenches,
With wrecked ships and silver pots and bolts and wrenches.
Find me somewhere ancient with lost troves of wore gold,
But for now, please do not let me get cold.
Scraping, scraping, always scraping,
the wet inner membranes of my skull,
and from the sky and the clouds draping,
I can feel a thoughtless but tearing pull,
, clouds so heavy, falling, falling,
, over the ocean that turns and caves,
into huge cresting waves that race torwards the shore,
, and crash into the beach with a rushing roar.
The minds natrual deviation
torwards things beyond comprehension
while the strings of thought are held in tension
as they are made to ponder an impossible question
that bears no possible relation
to the things under the morning sun
The fragility and fractality of perception
spiraling into the dreaded chaos
that knits itself into perfection
, and even after a gracious millenium
Im still just bones and skeleton,
-- I, the very pinnacle
of all known paradoxium.