dot dot dot

it's the early morning oranges that seem a little pink.  An ochre kinda pumpkin crowning bluish-gray sort of wink. 

an immediate source of windblown tumblewed stationary phallangecal waverings skyward, stretching into dawns newly revealed undercarriage.  fading into reflections of seas, eradicating constellations until the next spin.

Wonderbluss careening towards oblivion, tanking,  floating markers lighthoused subsequent harbingers floating to shreds, wretched, writhing

                                                       seething without

the inclinations, sublimations, tribulations devout                                            no one elses affectations, ostentations, deviations throughout

your other machinations.... articulations....  infatuations.  without a doubt.

      (...)