missionpanopticon

Always left minty fresh death -breath lodged in my chest, dry heaves bursting in laughs and screams the hush on this island is growing in the tissue of my lungs, sinking waterlogged mist fogged, atmospheric dis- charged, lightning clamped between coils of god-brain, wind-raked and mute-- waiting low, echoing the silence of the growing night, curbed to the edge of the stars, lowing, in this human bath I can feel the pulse of countless anonymous grassroots, curling in on their dry seeds, leaving the hollow breeze to germinate saturated kernel of soul, unknown god is just a word