Cloudy City
The Mystery Of Our Minute Possessions
Protons. ...
Electrons….
Feelings
No suffering
Only wings.
Sentient of our mystical environ.
Mystery coated alluvium on our probing tongues.
Mystery of the rite of passage to Wheredom?
Curative speaking people of love,
Entities positioned and scattered for luck.
Exposing voids ubiquitously
Yet still holding them in your time patterned palm.
There’s a mystery amongst us.
