Thaumaptilon crawls in the dark seas; echoing whalesong throbs in the ocean currents; a man falls on the beaches above.
I'm falling into something dark; I can't stop myself and it scares me.
It reminds me of old love that hangs around and taps you on the shoulder every now and then asking if you want to get a drink and catch up.
If this bridge is struck by a vehicle please call ...
I have nothing in the eye of the sun but my own point blank indiscretion.
If the whales can do it, then you should check out his eyes: I can't finish a simple apogee.
I am not prepared for my upgrade, but I can tell you that it's a damn long way to Mars from here.
We'll be nothing but gas in the end anyway.
There'll be no more gods when he's underground and can't see the sun.
Still the brightly-lit corridors.
I can test my eyes against the fabric of the light; one, two.
Seeing the fireflies orbit the night isn't what she had in mind when she first picked them up.
Good.
What a piece of work is a star? Nobody knows, really.
I think I broke myself.
It curls and it curls and it curls and it curls and it curls and it curls and it curls. Curls, Twists Around God.
Made us gods, they did.
“Hello, my children are mental.”
Go fuck yourself, you have nothing left here.
You really shouldn't mess with that sort of stuff: it's dangerous.
Oh.
Oh my.
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