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.