Monday, September 19, 2022

so the days have fallen, hard upon the spike and in the garden, all that bloomed withers and returns from whence it once came. ashes to dust, to the mote in a gods eye, as time plays it's fiddle, a foreboding accompaniment to a man on fire, a strange little lust for life as twilight descends upon the sunset of reason, i sip my cocktail and watch embers soar upon ideological thermals that once burned so bright, now burn away to reveal the darkness. i smoke my joint, i sip my tea, i can't tell the difference between time and memory. 


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