( via/ via )

"What language is this..."

"Purple Rain

Lord, a sunbeam simply drops
And like a note, implies such chords
But when that spotlight falls on me
I flinch at those assembled shards

The spotlight blinks; and as the graphite
Clouds read out a smeared name
I close my eyes—and almost hear
A tapestry of hanging veins

Fairweather fawn, I ran from night
By darting for the darkest hole
And when you drove the ploughshare past
My turning tail exposed a heel

For all I know, the river of time
Was never meant to run that way
And upstream-bound, I chase your cutting
Touch—with no idea why

Purple rain, purple rain
The color of celestial blood
Purple rain, purple rain
Finish this transfusion, Lord"

—@huckastley

"We'll take it from here."

"quackmire" —@geofhuth.bsky.social

Cecropia moth.