Warm maids singing between worlds of zero point, whispering the eagle’s message to the King of all clown orgies
inside limited strikes on lymphatic intersections of mussed alleyways we neutralize all forces of lucid Uranus
beyond radiocarbon synchrotron the maids publish expansive structures of restorative geoscience, slow flexing their fully assembled mega
Lords roll up their jeans and dance in compressed surf, knowing nods to the moon
spatial distribution smoothed by skating stingrays on the undertow glide
a safe journey into the center of crystalline skin fed by deep compassion and infinite spectrums of fluid love, and there we go
calmly grinding to paste
20 fingers running away from death