voices deep rich and wide though cracks and crags butchers in the great divide slowly simply softly confusing manners of cults manners of fear spoken masters of broken cutters grazing pulsing hammers brazing gorges in cheeks in the heart of divinity.
accosters on the plain drawers of the drawer of the time of the pain through landscapes of color awakening sums of harrowing transplants girders of the flame punctual perfect inhumane.
crippled with fences across dead poplars we spent our time in dead parlors there waiting on the tides
flames of visions of nativity grinding pursing scrambling and decaying controlled and confining scattered to the outposts of our great surrounding twelve rings of Saturn broken and fallen demystified in milky eyes and glazed pupils.
we were once the controllers controlling the dust.
