2013-01-12 0000 The spinning skies all about my eyes, turn forward upon a wakeful sight. All through the planes and realms it's spiral swam to touch our faces Long Boiled raw in plastic casings. The melt of cruddy waves Kept the ruled lengths From their ridged lines And moved them about the Aura of the sky. Such simple lies In bulk composed Cannot unearth the Lyre below. ( The tune that rides In our brittle bones ) Our song is sheathed By the tune that rides Since our ridged lengths Have kept us From the Spinning Skies.
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