At the behest of a queen, I acquiesce to sleep in a flowerbed of prickly seeds. Sleep is swift and light. Mental thistledown.
The dreams that embrace me are in an outline of a Buddhist statue. I speak to it in a mantra of one thousand questions. It listens and answers with a careful golden tongue. The echo of spilled answers tells me more about myself than it does about my lecturer.
I know I lack a third eye. Mostly because I refuse to close the two I have.
8:09 p.m. - 2015-06-12
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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