6 and 6 parsons and he doth proclaim that the best little bits of us misfits and strays
make a light in the night that needs to be shamed,
all for some none for all,
and all fallen the same
It's seldom so long since forgetting came to forgotten, since letting meant leaving and then. The trampling kingdoms often come calling, curling tail-lights dragged out in lapsed lumens on film. They are such fragile things, the mottled mosaics memory meanders, only tufts of miasma crossing the hairs. Yet still they stand on end with you.
And perhaps that is the sadness suffering from you; rather than frank felicitous shadows stalking, more mired mirrors play at wrapping foil in the crinkling dust of satellite speak. How baud-y, blind,and befriended. So pleased in the twittering of laughter.
And all these beautiful spines, a dragon's array of feather and bone and spun woolen skin still stirring in echoes and lore-ful sputters of smoke. Streaming minarets, soft voices still speaking in scales and calm culling dreams like hard cords drawing tightly at the doors. These fetters for exits framing you in, knowing no axis or axes, still splinter your wills and give wont for the measures your wings once remembered. Like burning hives they're restless, pulling in their slack and slow the cold pause your hearts beat into pulsing in the last chaotic strobes rending through the universe, reading the ebbing darkness knowledge has not yet seen.
And all this teething, all this jawing, gnawing ache to crack and quiver and sliver and break. Your slender skin, your lovely bones.
Your lepidote heart.
Good natured. God-willing. All ye fearful feinting to tread so wisely.