Portent
Our ephemeral landscape is an incoherent horde of screaming horses, their wall-eyed charge, cascading into violet chasm of dream wherein all be swallowed whole: self, and spoor of unity named "objectivity;" wherein pulse wild echoes of a salvation savage.
Igneous fonts blot the horizon like carrier doves aflame, portending peace to far-off lands, delivered at riflepoint.













