Twisting and writhing tidal waves

cradled by insanity of whether or not

I even feel anything for a water bearer

anymore? I dreamt of a raging bull who

held my hand as I cried

over. Something. Very. V e r y.

S t u p i d

oddly I was awakened by a bell

from a territorial raging bull

and like the flick of a switch:

 

D o n ‘t   s m i l e.

 

But the bright flash

of a Cheshire Cat

erupts from the stomach and

spews out of a crack in the

mouth of a slightly unsettled volcano;

however, I noted that the waves calmed down,

the storm had passed, and the sun came out.

Not even the hint of a breeze whistled

through moist and vibrant green leaves.

 

Perhaps as an archer myself I set

the bull on fire, but how can a flame

not ignite the earth and all that surrounds?

Straight down to ash in the ground

until. I am left with.

N o t h i n g. Again.