All Rotten Water

Sea foam ineptitudes written at the dawn of collapsible trunk case suitors. A brisket floating in Lake Superior, (a width unlike salt-shored supines) where a derelict apron shows it’s face amongst calm drift and withered knoll. A pine coffin, where message adrift in airtight bottle reaches shores of blackened nuance. A digeridoo hates the open, consuming system of whale and reef.

“Nowhere” is a cartographed, researched, and highly contained probability where the illness and ineptitude of Titan spars with cyclones and produces new ovum.

Sperm mixes with salt mixes with woode in an effort to spawn new meate– water to feed the bellies of discarded waste. With it, comes a new value of being present in this day and age. The age has come where water and manne drift together in endless light through inner caverns of minde and spirit. Water and spirit prove to both be fluid and malleable. Either can’t be handled–both vast and limitless. Endless cycling from body to body, from sod to sod. When one has to relieve himself of water and spirit, a trip the the bathroom conceives as both. Sperm and water flush out towards the sewer, where dreams and illness lay. Within each cell is the hope that water may replenish the fever of dreams, the dream to self perpetuate.

Cancer. Folly. Smoke. Petri dish of horrors when Dr. Branson forgot to cool it down slowly (scientists collapse at the thought of clean fluids).

All spoiled milk, all rotten water! All dirty dishes, all broken wishes!

To forget the time of day is a pleasant convenience indeed!