The Wax Conspiracy

Vultur gryphus in italics

Years behind the mark but only because the tide shifts like goal post jumpers. It’s a quiet game of cat and mouse this exhalation that is Leopold and Loebian in everything including execution, which means that once again it’s written to fail.

The choice is there, either the span becomes gangrenous or you bind it tight in swaddling and Prince Randian it for the gawkers and for the watchers and for the buck-tooth-ed coiners that’ll clang'em in a can.

1000 yurtz and still trying to decide what's worth coming home to because this domestic bliss is a whole lot of trouble for not much win, just muted photographs of muted lampshades stolen from the television. (The television is also muted.)

The vultures'll keep circling for now, riding those convection currents for a better vantage point and fixing what to find: five minutes or five hundred years.

Belvedere Jehosophat

Written on Sunday, 29 December 2013

The Wax Conspiracy

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