a grey incarnation on the shores of feral faith

twisted puzzles and dead heroes
spiraling towards some distant heaven
as half dead men and recycled women
exhausted from caterpillar visions,
dream of infinite labors and market illusions
and in the background
oblivion rests secretly on the horizon

victories and defeats pass like bored traffic
i’m still here though
sitting, and waiting in exile
waiting for a cause to champion
or a passion to endure

i almost forgot what it was like
to invoke the word
and even though this morning started off fresh
it now feels, somewhat rusty
the winter is smooth and cruel
in it’s silver progression

with a warning of impossible insurance
gypsy gods drink tangled cocktails
watching with crude eyes
as the heavy symphony
of humanity’s hurried souls
continue to embrace collective indifference
and corporate immortal machinery

perhaps what we need now
is a higher frequency
a new vibration
to carry an old message
a vacation from the captivity of progress
and a fusion of sacred and forgotten geometries

no lines
only patterns
wagering and weaving
our refracted realities
into a revolutionary promise of infinity



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