Blue fears and loves.
Four ice-crystals stick to my tongue, suddenly I can see the future.
Longingly forlorn and apathetic predictions weigh like spider silk on moth’s wings–cover the planet
spool upon spool.
It was the beginning, a new age, a light age
an age of angles studied through fresh eyes, enormous amazing eyes!
It was largely full of love and tangible sweet
places of the global heart. Predictions shimmer–snow over glass in the sun. We choke trying to find balance and purity in the air we breathe,
choking is not the end.
Palm, face up,
the spider silk weighs a moth’s wings down and fingers tangle.
But silence will not last long.