Oblong nights and decantessant days.

Nothing seems repressant.

Singing down while windows blare

The spirit round the body snakes

The canister it shakes, a calm depressant

Single figure, trichromatic essence

Giving in to flashlights glare.

Steps precipitous, tracks too near

Masks fastened tightly, train light near

Rush air, walk long, wind go, gone there.

Interest peakes, creativity wilted,

Poetry reduced to post-oblescent blab.

Listen to the story once told by me

Beat the drum and let the smoke grow dark

Burning floating by your ears

Meadowlark, come near my fellowship.

Drink the nectar of my cantaloupe eyes.

Bleep-bloop. The machine speaks ready

Malfunction, woop, there is no time till its done.

I wish this stayed good like before

Everything is better before.

Nicer and on topic, not tangential

Not geometric.

God brings forth in man,

What is to be seekd.

The mighty conceit

Fades to obsolescence

Wagnerian desire

Flies down from the clouds

The mandrills tendrils reach

Toward the fiery bolts

As the french horns sound

In romantic divine revelry

The heart beats and the eyes water

For the image in which we were created.

Love is fear. Fire in the hearts of many,

White smoke plumes from the aorta

and Benevolence flows through the streaming spirit.