15. Our Waxing Promise

Gods, I need you!
Does our waxing promise wane?
Buried in shit is the spit-
mark of a verdant growth;
not just for me but for my Other.

Let green disguise throw up ulterior moves
while circuitous circusing festivities loom;
fire and smoke are half the joke,
what gets drummed gets drummed gets our use.

14. Sits For A Bit

Newnest descended, shiny new hope of alivedead explores. Geometry foreground more prominent. Rhythm inherent - white diesel noise lulls in the dark.

Peace around abounds. Sits for a bit. Does the washing. Houselifewife better no where she's going...

To movement!