One Runaway Religion

Ignite the barren clay, I need some rare elements to tie a thread to the moon. Upstaging the sun. Not aspirational he was stripped to become radical like the dark blood of a white soul. Pentadactylous was losing the big toes under the burning skies of unmindful eyes. The system was collapsing. One premature innocence dies defore the guilt was proved, in the howling night of terror. He unrolls the thighs to show the stitched corn. The seeds step out to prove the adolescence of crime. Satish Verma