Bump

whiskey & fire

Pic, sobo graph

wood,concrete,brick

scary jack o lantern idea

Waxing

Perhaps the wordy words call me again. The twitch, the urge, the pull of my planet's center. Perhaps the roll comes. The turn over, the way back, the way again, the noticed ripples upon my literal mind. The same, the new other refreshed and levied. The articles proposing subjects and description. The need, the greed, the bleeding excellence. The stain named and cataloged. The spelling from witch to raven, the black animals sneaking about. About what. The fire fore and before. The life yet not dead. The cake and the addictive additive too.  The extra letter, the forgotten secrets of name, nickname, and fraudulent entry. Lax creatures of waxen visage. The manikin zombies bereft of eyes or valley like canals. The message. The message. The message spoken thrice. These are the counted, the coined, the melted and reformed. This is the next bit. Lodged deep in frothing mouths, led by a lead blind and bewildered. But yet blank and base in its direction. The cardinals sing with the other birds from north to east to past to future. Quaint mechanics laid bare by observed observers. The miracle of existence shared. This is me made you. The final first finale, waving onward to those that follow.