www.mirrorflower.org
The clouds slip their fingers all down the bellies of the mountains, black holes erupt roses all over the place, mirrors reflect only animal faces. Over swain and dodder can be heard the geometric rhythm sequences. The clouds bow their heads. All things quake and pulse like organmeat, like genitals in bloodthrob, like the sun. The circuitboardscape shines in a manner similar to diamonds in seawater. The color of the sky folds inward, oxygen molecules tumble laced with joy and yearning. Our ears grope like submarines through the turquoise rapture. The sky exults, human beings interlock through hair filament and root tendril, the police take off their clothes. The world is in heat.
It is good.