‘mystery of every day'
nothing has been written over nothing there's the title for the
swan's game
there will be written never spoken in the horniest glade
forces are moving It was never done
There is the foam of its nothing that was never written heard in a gong
without lips to speak it a horn it was peeking through X
the matter at hand
on the fire of the expanding cortex
there will be death there is no death in salt the lovers coalesce
never known how not to conceal
and yet light grows to a fifth seal
the rumpling waves of what is written
the pure blind beacons are the focus to the dream forest
to be read that has never been written