Maybe the Guff Was Empty, Cancer Full Moon Eclipse

Maybe the guff was empty—Cancer full moon eclipse Left field call on the black wall phone faint cry from the distant end spoke with throat lump of capital disaster and a troddened womans most everydom—lost before found—somehow Jan knew and put forth a celestial no comment with I-hope-I-am-wrong-love gesture for the love torn bull awaiting a cancerfold friend offspring no spring-perhaps next spring. Anna solid Anna so poised of classic stock sometimes never bending to an antiflexible Taurus mood was caught in a never place, the why of questions- depleted character strikes. Will the blood hordes rally for the fallen “fetalrade” and heal the internal emohurt temperature inferno of unknown bliss. Does it ever come at the right instant? Like where’s a cop when you really need one—maybe 7-11 therapy would bring solace and peace. Forgive the forgiver and pass your senses into another birth ability, Keep your mind and your soul for the little lost egg. I don’t know or could never compromise no more of a complex juxtaposition of life and death than that of biobeings so closely connected that share the same existence, one within-one yet percent infinity bonded in a tidewater liquid symbiosis that no manbeing in time past or future will ever hope to match let alone entertain. Be that as it may, you’ve felt the sting of life and the creation of flesh for a brief moment of time in time and all time is that holder of all events we hope to achieve—your time in both will come to be—you will share and create from within, and not waiver about the fallbacks we run down for no explanations from anyone will suffice or reason to make a whole sense of such a fathomless inconsistency. I felt your loss deep in my knees and thoughts flew to your little soul upstairs. There are words and there are no words—my deepest senses to you and Dana—I know it will happen for you as all things come to pass for those deserving dave collins