Unmarked

This does not represent 
any known thought 
structure before 
or alongside it. 

For one, conditions 
would have to be 
replicated along all 
levels—and they're not. 

The color of my eyes 
are known to change. 
From grayer hazel 
to a bluer green, 
it depends on 
the weather. 

Outside, the howling 
increases through 
the droning wind 
and I can only imagine 
the creatures stalking 
the countryside. 

It will remain eternal 
night now that the stars 
have locked down in 
the Universifreeze. 

Spirit dislocators send 
out tangrams featuring 
lucid maleficent vibrations 
tuned to geomagnetic north. 

The results are a world spun 
out of control in a frenzy 
of lust and battle rage. 

The echoes are still ringing 
throughout the denizen's heads, 
spread across the surface 
of the earth like a tapestry 
of dandelions. 

Thoughts captured 
by the winds of time 
and tossed sporadically 
across the land. 

Every morning 
like a parade of 
gathered pigeons, 
they spread upward 
to blot out the blue sky, 
building shadows which 
shift into nervous mountains. 

Across pallid and scorched 
plains of bristly calcified 
networks an interred 
interlacing system 
of geomagnetic 
communications 
sporadically flickered 
in lustrous and pulsing 
illuminations racing in 
timed clockwork like 
the photogenic illuminations 
native to deep sea creatures. 

There was never any human 
presence around to see this 
parade of phosphorescent 
tribulations rippling across 
the landscape, and the tumble
weeds which ungainly passed 
over on their windblown 
sojourns never seemed to 
give it much notice either.