in the storm from the ash and smoke, the dragon comes down
seeking her approval , The koi Present their beauty,
Each scale reflecting a lifetime of choices
A colony of consciousness rejecting the simulation
Abandoning Cities of soot and sunder
Projecting through her shell, she announces:
welcome home time tourist ; warmth waiting inside.
She proclaims:
Where is the proof that you are awake?
The nose squeaks and whimpers dreaming the future sorrow of the end
Firing through the night
exhausting fight with bone cold
Splitting slivers from the whole
Catching a vein and running wide
a ladder Connecting now to later
Splitting time down the middle
Missing rungs from the bottom
Finding another way.
Smoldering moldy fumes billow Hills of heat
Seeking high ground clinging Hungry hands
Passing aging lovers Queuing forms Rising floods
Catching drips that
Tappies carry away
Creating rules
Forming into pieces
Two great and frothing armies
Opposed and facing each other
Roaring silence
Motionless standing present
Battling victorless,
Monks measuring weighted words
Looking across
Negotiating deaf
Seeing only alien
Opposed for all time
Speaking in echoes across the void,
To the gathering shapes below
A smiling sloth seeks shining light speaking deliberately slow:
- with these lips, calling out to those who listen.
-with these toes exploring unknown forces
-With these fingers shaping flame into something new,
Waking once again,
Squinting through murky fluid
Breathing through the long long stem
holding the seed tightly in teeth
Swarming schools of color
Circling once more
The original words form.
Solidifying the diving force
Dripping cold life
Smiling just because.
She is ancient beauty , glowing dome in the night,
Approaching slowly, clawing deep impressions dragging through the muck.
To be bronzed for posterity.
Carrying SATOR dome on her back frozen lightning full of Lumens
flashing winking smirks in passing.
She looks everyone directly in the eye.
"Give me your old, tired, and worn. I guarantee, in me, a far better place; beyond your wildest dreams. "
The word is drafting lonely sticks and twigs into pairs around the edges of the derelict pond.
Retired custodians waiting to depart from polished station comfort.
