Tuesday, June 07, 2016


"Such things that disappear in time that we find ourselves longing to see again. We search for them in close-up, as we search for our hands in a dream." --M Train

A Moon for Makemake.

     "Sonnets to Chango: XI."

Dividenfluenza fastened with a padlock
yet plagues aplenty perne in specious ambush;
the only brain of ours in use, the reptile.
Chango, what do you add to our woes but mildew?
I toss soft grains on cubes of smouldering charcoal
the frankincense of kings. Beethoven's Fifth
heard as few a times. When drones grow anxious
they vex their own great shadows. Bloodbrain jointure
Rubicons the hexadecimal sultan,
Plutonian badlands stretch out crinkly jasmine
where ice is stone--in that light, almost lilac,
though even i can barely limn its sculptor
as huddled near the sun in fecund quagmire
drabal whose praise requires a Lojban bagpipe.

(via @darkvictorian)



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