Eight Colors Beyond Human Ken
A loneliness, a longing, a leeching. It absorbs what it obscures, refracts what is revealed.
A decayed cloying, a thinning, a liquid lucidity. It provides a pale plasticity that revolts as it delights.
A giving, a bliss, a breaking away, as a body drifting across a peppered sea. An indifference that strangles without suffocation arises in its wake.
Thick, briny, a parchment of blighted film. It presents a presumption of expectation behind a façade of shimmering heat.
A reeling-ripe deformity, a smoking alienation, a celestial agitation. Whatever is unborn will manifest whenever it arrives.
A callous exhibitionism, a sweating crow, an amorphous silence unbound. A commitment to insipid calm follows its leaving.
A complete weary, a symbolic cherriness, the tang of an storm assured. A frenzy of omnipresent breakfasts ensues in its arrival.
Birches gather in abnormal pronouncements. Escapism staggers glorious minds.