history is yanking the hairs off of my arms. mountains progressively shift in my sight. a lark? a never ending battle between all of us and none. “a lark” you said? an optimisim unmatched by the stellar stones of the earth. i can forget it now, it has all passed, but since i have risen once again, i will speak of these comets and spurts of fire. encompassing fire, chills of desire. galactic mounds have stood before me.
i feel the heat in my neck when you stare at me, foundations of crumbling circumstances spiralling through rings of ashes and bountiful smoke. i overlookedthe motionless passing of time. the fields and farmers can tell if it will rain. you walk alone on the paved cloud. i run to you in on ice. i am the bird living in your tree. you are the finger temperate and still.
i am the muscles pulling your strings. strings are the flames burning my face.