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Death Is A Place

To The Overflowing Brim,

"mine shaft, encased glittery glowing glass, earth materials, use only in case of emergency."

an excerpt from

A Feast For Every Dying Second

"and now you think you understand about the way the world lies vacant like a dismal ship set sail on a vast ocean of pearlescent candlewax, the ship gone else where to make its stay."

there is a vision masking true love with inherent beauty, "and melt away again."

vast is the ocean, far vaster still the depth, wrought from lead the stolen mask laughs

on into enternity, the hidden laughs are the best, a mask death wears is a mask that cannot

recoil, vintage snake, what more bitter a woe than believeing in the art of accursed, hung

hangman, hang, wishes torn in the astrolabe from returning, now back then to break, to

broken vases and flower petals drifting in the lake, head tilted, tiled mosaic, for art thou...

suspended mid air fall, quickly now, quietly, more quietly does the lash vicious tongues

give out, wherefore art thou mistress, setting, crush, and quick device, carving deep within

there was I, just a moment ago vast is the ocean, far still vaster the hidden depth, wicked

one thousand legs, one thousand lives, or one thousand years together. one thousand

eyes open at the same time, one at a time. visions vast in continued throng, the fallen one

falls on his sword, a bursts into butterflies, opening, one at each in every time, the mind

thinks only the thoughts it rearranges, two gears shift in ordered containment, one gear,

one round one massive tooth turns ever so slightly opening each door in every time and

further gears spin, alignment creates echoing, and the echoing is building within, stacked

stacked on top of each other, one after another after another, from the clock face to the

horizontal race of the horses run, then in turn, every animal, the lion beneath, every race of

humanity, all turning counter clockwise within, from left to right the image projected and

at the top the doormouse, and from the ceiling, suspended in death as a leaf is suspended

in air before it falls, as the sand is one with the mountainous grain, before it drops, as

before the leaf can float down the stream, it must fall someday, as before the sand can fall in

line, the hourglass must be turned, the crown of the watch must be wound, the face of the

compass must be earned, and true north must call to me somehow, somewhere further

further beyond the distance further beyond the distance the eye can see, another turn

in the labyrinth, another mask, disgrace, the white mask is a face death wears, never to be

againe, never have thee i left, never serpentine the spine lest within the hidden design

thou must catch thyself in falling, and to do that one must see, eternity is the infinite gears

spinning, its the words written on the wall that you remember in ways you cant forget, and

its the words chiseled into the door you wish you could open again in ways you'll never know

cut the leaf to fell the tree, who would have known what would have happened, cut the leaf

to fell the tree, and the whole forest tumbling after, as dominos fall, as eyes open all at once,

they are both falling and fallen, and there is no separating them although, as gears do spin

thoughts create, what is the connecting factor, another gear, another clock face, one that

looks like it is moving, yet also is known to stay, remove unnecessary gears from the

equation, the connected layers of reality turn, one above one another, all is prey, the

astrolabe plays, as a ballerina spins atop the centre, and one and two and three, break

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