Hence the Hex in Her Hair

I hear forgotten clips of her voice,
juggling the art of her six-legged precision...
And to think I knew that ancient chimera;
and injured it as well with the delusion of
the warped neural maze-construction built in
the very moment of Razor's wake in time.

Nothing reveals no thing in time can be any old thing

in making Light of my perception

Burn I travel it back
Crumble I wash it dirty
Stumbling bumbling rumbling

Hence the hex in her hair.

We shall never cross fingers again.


[22:45|16.10.012] ©c.thomas.carter