Friday, December 25, 2015

Hidden in Sane Candidate

The sky cautious for too much but will for blue. Deep pedestal insight flounces in theory, castigating mere omens for the natural sound of words.       When you weren't looking.

No words remain for the excrescence traded to the people, the common people of the trust. Your vote continues a deadlock shade. A piano cannot speak censure like the dark clouds of your strain. We vilify by verifying our neglect with the backhand of our vote. Welcome to the last patch of living, on the other side of your steel eyes.

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