untitled, that

And quickly, passing, all lines in the sky, behind the eyes, anyway, it's not very late amongst the noise,

which is almost loud.

I'm a bit gone, as if to say, gone in a particular tone,

on the eve.

Just too rich and twilight and with

no most tense.

To make

something up.

To take out all the sounds, to be a flat and constant note, no such luck far away, no no good.

text ~ Linda Marie Walker