Wacked

Out here, the deltas and the clouds the jewelled rivers of the mind;

the waterways are swift at times and glimmer off the crest.

I soak myself in air and heat and wash down this sullen pill

I say oh are you my friend, lillied thorn-berryin' cirrrus-speakin' fledged air riders?

Yah you little bird. You tiny seer wafting thru the haze, feathered rapscallion.

Please send snapshots of Pangea to the lost orphans

of Drone City.

I applaud your many kindnesses my dears.

Afterstumble:

The dark covers every day til its gone. This days gone. And its dark.

All good sea-things rolling with the moonlight tides, Good Evening and the day is gone forever.

No feather shapes the air, no river carves the land now.