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April 13, 2014
It is fitting that my eye expands till bright blindness consumes its faux delights gobbled over landscapes riddled with cloying music of jarring, miss-tuned strings on battered violins, clawing snags of sound out shorting guitars, strained tones from throats bellowing into empty spaces sucking them dry for their arrogance, gouging out the air with broken silences battering one-time stolid hearts, now misfiring with old blood thronging its vessels to bursting, that the ship, fueled by this fissured lone engine, lusting after horizons, ever lurching from view, tumbles from its intent, falls on a new course, unexpected and fine.