untitled by moominseam
the past doesn’t exist
a cliff at your heels you can’t really
tumble into ‘cept in your head
or maybe upon death and the
smell of moth-balled woolens
surrounding soiled satin
coffin pillows
for now the blessed task
at hand is living in
solid-state hi-fidelity
heat so white-hot it’s invisible
to the faithless eye
faithless eye
to the white-hot it’s invisible
heat so hi-fidelity
solid-state is living in
the blessed task at hand
for now
pillows
satin coffin soiled
moth-balled woolens surrounding
the smell of death and
maybe upon your head
‘cept tumble into or
you can’t really
a cliff at your heels doesn’t exist
in the past
