Uncaring Canyon

Dawn sighs a crimson vapour along a beach of trolls (pretending to be plastic things) fond of gleening the mind leaving a trail of seaweed and grit behind, that stays with you till the ends meet time.... The yawl is beached skin blistered blue till white, listen to wind stories whispering truth always lies somewhere between pulp and rind-piper and-gull solitude and scream- Take a picture of the sunrise through the foggy lens of a been there- done that life but there are new things to see yes, worthwhile things-isn't there? Just pan offal from pristinity and when you've reached what you've had all along, hide your disapointment cleverly wear its flaw on your ringing finger. I'm heading for unspoiled terrain {hopefully sooner than later} rescued from the hearth of a deepening canyon, called uncaring. A one way cool air balloon ride into the lattice of heaven-