the own subject of a brute force
silver sped spoons and array in a velvet caseof constraint and poor bricks, oh you find such waste
of the meek commodoties of the weak cat's eyes
bow to strain in admirable tone
until suddenly you appear in front of home, rythym of spanning tones and resonating silverware, 8th kind
nothing as the cat's eyes dissapear strains to be seen in such elusiveness
resolutionstoo, into blue,
all the more used
One, two, wood clack waste
She gives a delibilating pout
of relief, and clout
as they go away,
spectre into the sun
humanitiy's brink and humanity's bricks
to stop being a debilitationof the weak
Instead giving a peek into your cloak
of dust and moats
of transform galore
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