Daimanius

i think about this overabundance of you, a kind of you that i fathom is fixated, absolutely fascinated, by the fisherman's lure of a deep sea fish. i give thought to the quartz-crystal movement of this pedestal earth right under your feet: the stars like white-gold slivers, indicating seconds. the second-hand is the kind of you that i can picture tilting at windmills, as a champion mounted on a phosphorescent steed, with a hand on the reins and your heels digging deep. it brings me to reason that all this flight-of-fancy life you live, has the haughty ominous tone of a paper witch, something so impotent and kitsch that it earns no remar