Sight Without Depth Comments

Regaining promises of birth, a giant reposes inside a violet coast, his eyelids are the anvils we reach for on promontories of light composing his enormous body, dividing the cosmos from man, stretching from the Burgess, its pubs, shop, halls and unbearable tonality not yet submerged in the duality allowing us to understand evolution as formidable consistency, to oil rigs constructing themselves from the Sea as if the torture of love wasn't the last contingency igniting the will to think of ourselves as something different from the fire we mine to escape a Hell we are yet to endure for eternity; still too scared to peer over golden purlins, promenades without doorways braid his scalp, the instinct of flight might prove too true and we may never see ourselves again as eternal lovers chasing the guarantee of equal exchange, the last resemblance of pure nothing issuing forth inverted streams maintaining the Sun as abrasion; rocks slit the giants throat, brine scolds his sweetness, impossible operas are muffled to calm echoes that are his voice which - due to him only knowing the south - could only could ever be screams imitating his paralysation. Healed by moonlight, though at no specific time, he vanishes from our sight - now a star, forever rising, he sinks into the moulder of darkness we call the universe, avoiding space by any means possible, churning foam into pastoral blue, the arrival of spring; sticking our heads to the ground, we bury the notion that this has had any affect on us at all.

The Hymn of Tomorrow; -
She is followed! ...Eternal presence,
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