Tuesday, September 09, 2014

snake eyes

it rarely flaps a wing under mortal eyes, the little bird with its bald truths and heavy snakeskin it wriggle-hops under, for fear of unveiling a rigid moral courage, completely inappropriate for display to a flexihonest selfserving time warp, usually called the real world.

not that there's perfection under lifeless scaly diamonds, cmon, this is a working biomachine we talk of, as pedestrian as it gets. no, its more the unhappiness of excellent vision, closed forcibly to a pretend fog.

it speaks for a certain necessity for camouflage, if all the biomachines in the pretend fog are not to notice, a pair of clear eyes, wide open and horrified.

but wings are granted, to be taken out to the yard and flown, exercised like other limbs, shot at the sun and swooped from great heights, wings are granted to transpond away from pretend fogs, no longer be encumbered by the echoes of repetitive mortal speech, reinforcing each minute of each day, the few needs of the base machine

there must be a bi-pedal somewhere in the mists of maturity, between faux-leather, and wings, able to stand upright in the fog, and navigate unstiffly through heavy illusion, the bird grows tired as it waits, time has proved unsatisfactory in this particular evolution

the skin gets heavier, scales stick to the wings inside, nature regresses as the bird and snake try to wriggle-hop as one.

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