Circle In The Sand

Circle in the sand could tell a story of a lost world, where celestials and machines were one. A crafty place where symbiosis is tasted on the tongue. Chimera epoxies elysian forgeries, ruins, blistered and urned by the seasons and the sun. Cogs turning in the Temple of Desperidium. Wraith of translucent heat layers, reeling as film, screen of video player stealing the image of vesselic seal. Black wings covering the eye of the past in-echoed Artisan- lens cap, loosed, by gait of prose and print of boot. But it won't, divulge its secret cache, of high hand, poker face, in sign language-of cornerstones plans laid from. Jacobs Ladder Inn-hiding, drone wave form. A fleeting glimpse of visage, visitage of what will soon again re-spawn, kit of kingdom come. Masking, its schema in paved, mapping in hum of ley-line amathema, violet band in tardigrade. Petrified rainbow relic in the strata, its soil forgotten in mind shade. Like black chute of night blooming mushroom, bubbles up, defiant creation, pharmakeia l.e.d balloon parabolic ort-asm, phantifuge, sailing its wave of rebellion in bloom. Renaissance reconnaissance recognizance frequency of insanity of fallen ones that denies their death row doom. Tower of Babel has one foot in the grave and one lit up in stereo- fm, in the netherealms of CERN/Hades a portal seeking to pierce the veil, as a mitochondria drill. They seek to house themselves in your temple and corrupt the windows to your soul.