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Optics No Fibres Just Optics
A nothing met a no one on a journey to see a newt. Nonsensical rhyming patterns created a harmonic harp style rhythm through words. With no instruments around the vocals lasted for many years. Historical events through song. Voices from dark shrouded pasts. And a clutter of pots arrive from the ground to embellish the truth. Oh such beauty. Oh such wisdom from clay. Shaped with energy. Do e with decisive action. And meanwhile a little shrew is wearing round glasses and sits sipping whiskey in a round chair. Great. And now to roll eighty barrels. Shoot shot shaped scuttlerys. And skittles bowed to giant piranhas in a deep dark depth. Depends on one's view not one's wealth. Wealth can be dismissed. Bye. And nowhere in a nine foot bin is seen a clear vista. Xxxx optics. Z
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Taoi Chanan
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