Diasporulation
The scent of castaways grows keener: An aliajactate rattling of bones Tremulous on its own tympanum Deafens all but the white-eyed.
How came you here, you last of The kinless tribe?? What unpiped Melodies drew you to lands so barren Of desire that even rats perish With dreams unfulfilled and scarce Tradeable for beans or molehills??
My wanderings are not yours. The day will not beset me while I have the thicker blood of those Who spawned your millenial dilutions: A liqueur I can share with nights more Resonant than were felt by any idol You have graven. Look well. You are Mirrored in the the pooled bile of Your ravishments.
- David W. Mitchell
to David
/ to Moongate
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