Monday, April 29, 2013
cloth turned in shreds and synchronicity
across the sepulcher fields south; cloth turned in shreds and synchronicity with the wind. I could not travel these lands fearing the Leviathan among the sand. I walk far wide, the crumbling east hunting the memories of haunted lands. Vathek or Brigadoon or just a hope for something better beyond the barriers of sight. The blind drunk or even self lost in a crowd scream for blood; any would do.