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Description
Not as bad as when you think of it.
And it hit me then:
There’s an empty pattern in the gloaming,
You can’t see it; that’s why it is empty.
A harrow collecting sky is combing
Over the miniscule fibers that fabricate clouds and in a junction, all of the other things
that are worse.
It’s more random words that run through a head, run together and smashed like apples and jammed, than I’d bother to write down.

Treachery again.

And signs and symbols and clouds and dust and water and fences and sun and grass and dots on the road in headlamps and fog caught in refracting drops of it and a guard rail that doesn’t want to be there and a street sign and a little car heater and a triangular window to cool the auto and phasing out behind the controls because no rail wants to be there while music entrances the nature of the brisk and grim – well you know, it’s like again as they’ve said again and again and every frail heart who’s thought it:

why, there’s no point to bother because it’s so dull anyways.

The corrupt devices of a weak and pitiful, rather not bother but how things end up is like
this.

Description
Not as bad as when you think of it.
And it hit me then:
There’s an empty pattern in the gloaming,
You can’t see it; that’s why it is empty.
A harrow collecting sky is combing
Over the miniscule fibers that fabricate clouds and in a junction, all of the other things
that are worse.
It’s more random words that run through a head, run together and smashed like apples and jammed, than I’d bother to write down.

Treachery again.

And signs and symbols and clouds and dust and water and fences and sun and grass and dots on the road in headlamps and fog caught in refracting drops of it and a guard rail that doesn’t want to be there and a street sign and a little car heater and a triangular window to cool the auto and phasing out behind the controls because no rail wants to be there while music entrances the nature of the brisk and grim – well you know, it’s like again as they’ve said again and again and every frail heart who’s thought it:

why, there’s no point to bother because it’s so dull anyways.

The corrupt devices of a weak and pitiful, rather not bother but how things end up is like
this.