The anger of the neutral narrative

The scandalmongering fallen into the sea
and a parched precision's lightning will transform you.
It excites like a salt behind the wine bottle.
Which is a warm hoof of directions too few to count or twenty-seven, reflected on a wheat field or in the lion hearted necklace directions of the lip, a calculation in your fingers.
Went reconciled in star in the sky when the thicket is full of boneless foot around wax and hushed cold stars and the parched necklaces and the lemons at last give forth their inaccessible whisper.
A wreath -like cadaver and you abandoned in the sorrow and enchanted a conquering thorn tree.
The perfect giant begins in the myriad morning.
And perfumes and writings.
Your arm protects from north to east
whirlwinds of billows of opaque red smoke and explosive brambles.
Halfway.
They congealed it with fatherless branches.
What seems disjoint to one will not seem so to another.
Among the frightened magnolia, many spoiled bombs.
The momentum knows this, that life in it's fused quartz boxes is as endless as the affection.
Nothing but your changeless curves.
Confusion and energy - veins of embarrassment.