The Soul is a Series of Episodic Vignettes

fade out from the camera lens the lotus bloomed from the broken glass soil all things came into perspective as every toil was put into focus every shard set a different scene a series kaleidoscopic following film made of a red thread sewn in a fashion erratic and episodic singing songs of worship to the mirror man in a language no one understands babble in the porcelain white room to build a tower to bark universal demands a burning body stands tall arms open upon barren fields of salt something cosmic in the clouds a shadow looms all around blinking eyes at blinding speeds lashes thrash like whips cracking a moth’s frantic wings flapping bleeding from the glue trap’s seating under a city’s light the rain plummets peaceful residents amble awkward on thin dotted lines in the neon glow there is oxygen and there is evil the cars smell of fentanyl smoke and chemical pine a white horse with several heads gallops down the plain hooves hammering rhythms, the seventh trumpet’s valves censer swinging from the chain, a mist made from myrrh beautiful speeding specter guiding foals and calves endless scenes that flutter and flash a upon a malleable mind the clicking of film reels, the chopping of fresh vegetables reaching a revelation, the vocation to be kind