Ships

Do not sink the eastern ship when the western ship is spinning. Spanning the globe is never good in fist gloves. If one has no conception of seasons in a new place then surely it is punishable with death. Z to the q then. An anthem of time in a dominatrix style flurry of conquering peoples. Rising are the queuing armies. Swords pasted with red and tarnished with arteries. It is merely an outlook for a horse treading over the plains. Reached a castle then great. Itemised not. And catalogued not on a grid map. It is to swirl a feather pen and to glance over glasses in a wooden room. Round round glasses. On string. Mellow moronic masonry missions mind minding mean meaningless mayhems. And a jug of cloudy ale. Stems steaming stepping shipping sailing. And a pint of dust in a rusted silver goblet. Cheers then to Thor and thoroughly enjoy splurging and splitting carcasses. With haste paste and pâté. Banal banalities beastly bows. Dare to tread upon the waves of a misted oceanographic octagonal orifice? X historically significant x anthropologists z