|
bawdiness -> Edge of the sea (12/24/2014 11:19:02 PM)
|
At the tip of this v I stand at the sea, facing down whatever comes whatever to be. Distant shores call the buddhas of lore, emblazoned by fear my whispers arrive on the lips of a seer. Crackling sparks melting down the hillside, catching paper in this immortal caper to destroy what is said, all to be forgotten and lost in the head. Rip my books from my arms and spit on the ground, nothing sacred in this playground of circling mounds, all lining the sea.
|
|
|
|
