"Some vileness in us makes us scorn and wound
The shapes of flame for which our spirits yearn."
--Frank B*lknap Long
Z*ppar*lla.
Probing winds from four airts moan,
dusts snow about shard a moon.
Among old buildings curls main
road as thy small cinnamon.
"Airt" as winds' compass origin. I found my tracks back on a path of old days; what is not as in that lost duration but my knowing? Knowing so, it is that only spot again for a sad mind. What a grim wind carrying black snow.
Shall a chav qabbalah
carry this rash shawabty?
Shark arcana, carbolic,
crunk town coasts to Xibalba.
"...and yet what is hidden is not destroyed, while what is patent may be." --Th* 3v*ning Land
On my victrola- 5,000,000 by Dr*ad Z*pp*lin
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