More confusion stumbling out dark concrete little light burgundy splotches

(ON THE OPTIC FIELD);

Watch is a compass for all the sways and incomprehensibility it engenders,

Turning over like a spinning quarter descends a banister and the wind tugging.

Goes to grab his hair and it commends itself out to his grasping hands –

A god's recall power exercised! Hear the reverberation? The artificial echo disenchants the passersby and the mechanical soundrape thrusts and thrusts:

She is ravaged, she is destroyed by his cacophonous syrup voice.

Black and burgundy splotches become new brown, falling down

(KINESIS LEAVING HIS LEGS);

Turtles shedding their shells in the sky as he looks up and sees the full-bodied lustrous and lusting smoke wafting out the place he left.