kilroy was here.

or was it kiljoy?

here in my castle, that no good earthworm in cloche

and myopic to boot

one boot. two boots. many, many boots. singing words strung like beans

but bean skin tougher than most (it's the salt, of course)

and pressure cooker no help under pressure.

in the warmth of air, changing presence from warm to cold

like so much imagination and fata morgana;

a ship of fools on an ocean of love

and who knows how to navigate?

who knows where to go?

and is that even a vessel?

all is what it seems, a spaghetti western;

and fear not the fata morgana

these castle walls have their own translation

seasofme10.09.15parallaxis