Starving watching food decay,wasted fading sienna and pale yellow corpses of them sink brown in ….hungry spirits cave them in,knotted hair gets tangled with the wind…why must everything always be devoured?Why is there a dramatic formulation of materiality?A man without consciousness is as pitiful as a featherless fowl.A man with a rotten mind is oil on the wings…dark towers rise to guide us to the crowns,the halos lighting up the ground hearing the sound of falling leaves are now being crushed by stampedes of lurkers causing fear every night.A hunger an insatiable need
running and running hitting every falling leaf and it doesn’t matter everything is devoured and all is with dramatic form
its the mind rotting
its the four trodding
and there’s oils on the wings.
Categories: Angelo Vasquez