One of the best pieces of literature I have ever written.

Don't expect me to explain this piece of literature.

I wrote it at the top of my farm, in a field, during when the Internet died.

I only found it today, I had forgotten I had even written it.

I think it is flawed but yet I feel it is one of the best pieces I have ever written.

Enjoy.

Depth in thought.

Words ram into my mind forming parasitic lumps that jolt my slumber, the circlet, suspended on pure whim, catches itself before an endless fall upon atlas.

The sphere, round as given, has an assumed stature, pirouettes on a flute structured body.

Flute, narrowed as first thought, but as torrented, as jutted, as a chin juts when confronted by an apprehensive truth, it does not want to admit.

Phrases, compel the teeth, to be driven, like a flock of birds chased by a spaniel, by the tongue, not yet turned to pulp by riveting machine.

Licking saliva off the cream bone, inserted into the soft wings of a read spotted lady bird.

Yearning, it vocalises, calling for more lyrics to fuel a too imaginative mind, hiding from whence it came, like a dandelion among thin,thread proportional strands of dark grass.

Hundreds surrounding as if all in mind of one perfect breeze, one bloody fight.

Paragraphs stop and flutter, as snatches of preformed hands strong in bend, sutler in looks, but brittle wood, bursting upside down, from barren granules.

Technology, chokes, the miracles of happenings, numbness, no mind set on creased trees, no heart breaks as ink breaks onto hand.

It forces the nature, and puts in its place cubes of Lego, shiny and new, not vintage character but as modern as silicon chains upon hills of cells, white in shadow.

Nothing ever stays the same, just as writing this can, but wont be continued.