knocked blindside up on the techno revelry of the past. we rot and roll, pushed out of our shells and wondering at the pristine gore. laid out in morgue fashion, lost in the tepid scrawl of waxy black tar that spills over your furrows of clay.
i wonder at the images filling my head.
the stark black shutter stop click click click and off we go. running at break neck speed down the winds of tomorrow, we slide past grottos that hold secrets we will never grasp. lost amidst the insouciant wraps that clothe this world in green.