Post #212

“middle-aged moon(s)” moon is growing, cosmic jungle — scorched by God’s testosterone-fuelled rage this is a test of course, a coarse one, yes, of one’s belief into the eternal dream, where everything returns exactly to the state the memories had left it in just wait, and calves, waist, will, most undoubtedly, but suddenly a meteor In size comparable incomparable, incomprehensible pierces his cheek not a crater but the butt of the shotgun lodged right in-between his knees