z33r0

Set the clock, wind it back days march to an unclear beat divide, multiply, and writhe like a petri dish in heat made my salt-stained way over deserts of concrete muddy stretching out to dry Infant oceans on the street every end a tidal wave lapping at my threadbare feet If you were here I would have noticed the sky   You'd have outlined maps and dreams that I like to keep around like a photograph in black and white that guards your memory safe and sound something to sleep to, eyes shut tight assured by ink and paper glazed "just watch the calendar" try to separate the days rebellion reeks of connotation, so I'l

I am not your typical muse Wrought with hard edges not passive and beautiful but rigorous and calculating Not your soft smiling beckoning inspiration nor mirrored in your creations as a veiled, anemic parody of myself Instead I am a driving force the blood and bone the forest for the trees not so much a nymph as a god