This weather introduces poets to the narration of Armageddon.
Sadly none of the muses will be left to brag of their claims. Beauty dies with and from humanity.
This grants a complementary illusion to dissonance.
Celebration majesty as I pick freckles off Amelie’s earthenware
Glinting like borts in the overcast.
Expanding income joy to break knick-knacks stationed
On glass shelves
Inside a mind which contains no stones.
Smoke screen composed of perfume
Victimizing the scents of tomorrow’s rot,
Silhouettes become disguises
While everything organic burns.