Nobody Hears The Prison Anymore

Amulet Breasts: December 5th
1. A permutation in yellow, drunken conversations the helios between hours
2. Hind fur galloping fast enough to occupy magical space
3. Words mist, exteriors returning to the sweetest now

Alien syntaxes (a throne of tiny blue people) can be seen floating through glowing, lofty deliriums. Vaginas chant beneath the moon. Mayan radio cleaves the universe, the perennial variance set to autonomous. An assemblage of brainwaves (required to nod the speed of light).

The dark side of a good idea...

Psychically nebulous (one wet finger here) at the exact intersection where thought can no longer be bothered to articulate differences. Talking about bones still capable of making this evening blush the lower timorous, waters in pleasure. The history of ruin not groped for years, not what memory (upward razors that forget absolutely, its own pectoral) evokes in the rendered sun.

Whatever the mirror owes us...

Flesh perfected in the process, a minor third after Satan asks the impossible of old, decaying film clips (no legs to whisper a hole in the valley, the gate). Only lovers come here to be human again, the emerald palindrome (semen the foggy bridge) and pure mathematics determining the flicker of within.

1. An octave away from grey impulses, the will to articulate a raindrop
2. Satori radar, the electric prophecy buried in androgyny
3. The nymph's evolution lies beyond the good and evil of crashing imagery

December 5th: The Prison Is No Longer Heard