the ramblebrambleamble

Moth wind, eddying spirals. A billion lifetimes in a fraction of that moth wing flap. Sand of time like dream powder on moth wings surface the whirl whorld which holds its own in the void, ephermal like dust in the sun-crossed straits of one’s living room in high afternoon. A verb where there is nothing but noun. Adjectives are virtual particles and adverbs coagulate. Seeing and thinking you are seeing are two entirely different things.


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