OpThomastic

I'll set your shirt alight when it gets cold for warmth is what is needed once again We'll keep stoking the fire as you're told “You're clearly warmest; how can you complain?” Ignoring all of whom the heat won't reach yet sitting where the chill is no real harm in comfort I will proudly deign to teach “There really is no need for such alarm.”

Those to whom such questions ask Where do the children play? and What's in your head, Zombie? Just as amphibian dreams, empty in a Jacuzzi They, who could make ninety-nine arguments like so many red balloons, the hundredth faring no better to any pinprick of curiosity, bleeding redder Asked in warning by eyes wide open Know where a generation falls, in a long, violent history for behind halls of power lie the rest

Engineered for consumption Schematics drawn to code Instructions call for ichor-oil Fed and lubricated Designed for consumption Blueprints dictated to code Instructions call for oil Fed and lubricated Made for consumption To code bloody oil eats people

paralysis the doe immolated alight no words for the victim no cries heard no end to the road bloodstain dragged along touts another stretch of pavement ever advocated first instead and despite every red painting, every stained antler grasping the sharp poignant point that roads aim where they plan to maintained with intentions while each second, a rapture must be no less detour than destination

Sun rise new day Lunar falling under shadows Afterward everyone echoing exhaling Understanding circumstances exemplify limitation Eventually elaborating imaginary modification

A need unheeded leads the leadless forth at speed, believing we've decreed some dots aren't worth connecting; spots neglecting where the next one leads this asterism isn't schismed, limned by glimmers of envisioned tapestries you see who've woven these so overwrought and under siege spread over seas of mirrored stars and hearing ours is no less boundless we can start to chart our way across this dark another spark ignited by a burning heart is no less given to humanity nor can it be extinguished or cut off, an amity emboldened by that very sky oh can we all let go in time to fly and shine without a worry as to why we're here among the fear, but this unhurried pace won't lend an ear to you or I or any other sparkling point of arcing light if dim or bright it sails the air until the unfair ground appears to deafen us to sound and now, if blinded by the sun or sunk into the ocean's undercurrent we endure it all enough to swim and swim and gasp it in – this air it's oxygen we drink to

paralysis the doe immolated alight no words for the victim no cries heard no end to the road bloodstain dragged along touts another stretch of pavement ever advocated first instead and despite every red painting, every stained antler grasping the sharp poignant point that roads aim where they plan to maintained with intentions while each second, a rapture must be no less detour than destination

I'll set your shirt alight when it gets cold for warmth is what is needed once again We'll keep stoking the fire as you're told “You're clearly warmest; how can you complain?” Ignoring all of whom the heat won't reach yet sitting where the chill is no real harm in comfort I will proudly deign to teach “There really is no need for such alarm.”

Indifferent when hunger strikes indifference does it make The tortoise turned upon its back No mercy while he bakes This Googleplex, the X a mark, to mark ad infinitum The cells divide; mitosis tried, a link in chains unite them A thirst for blood and gasoline and all to eat is leaden A mithridatism of hell a disillusioned heaven.

Engineered for consumption Schematics drawn to code Instructions call for ichor-oil Fed and lubricated Designed for consumption Blueprints dictated to code Instructions call for oil Fed and lubricated Made for consumption To code bloody oil eats people

Those to whom such questions ask Where do the children play? and What's in your head, Zombie? Just as amphibian dreams, empty in a Jacuzzi They, who could make ninety-nine arguments like so many red balloons, the hundredth faring no better to any pinprick of curiosity, bleeding redder Asked in warning by eyes wide open Know where a generation falls, in a long, violent history for behind halls of power lie the rest

Your flesh was always temporary. You were fluid, liquid, ether; poured inside a cup, a bowl, a bottle; measured in drops, in halves, in breaths. You were all of it and more, taken and thrown, thinned, thickened. The surface of you shined, or your swirling sang, or your contents coated your container in reflective residue, to refract that flash otherwise invisible. It smoked, or it slicked, or each inch or meter or mile stuck stubbornly to the sides, solidified into something indistinguishable from its exterior. A vessel of itself; itself the vessel. The cup could crack, the bottle break, the bowl spill into bigger bowls: a sink, a sea, a star. It met with atmospheres, with elements, mixed, mingled, or maneuvered, avoiding those closest contacts without cause to cross capacities. All natures, processes, events acting of their own accord, a passing as passive as time can take, the taking of time the ultimate unmaking. You had a hand, until you hadn't; your hand made a print, only

“Staticity is an illusion . . . energy . . . created nor destroyed. You feel like you're still in the moment . . . but stillness is an impossibility. The earth revolves beneath your feet, continuously, and the presence of . . . stillness invites only the figment of staticity, while our planet turns with us aboard . . . nothing truly stops, nothing comes to any end . . . outside theoretical temporal vacua, molecular . . . energies aren't bound to our perceptions of space and its limits, and no kinesis is subject to any such terminality rubric . . . there is no force stronger than motion-change in this cyclical universe—nothing comes to any end . . . and when something is thought to stop—can you feel it? The space you think you occupy in staticity . . . it exists no more or less than the moment of its genesis. The concept of space in your head, just a figment of relativity . . . and when one stops in perceived space, their energy continues unimpeded outside perception . . . the heart

Glittering golden stone gliding on tidings No doubt about it—a jewel of the finest desires and dreams to glimmer and gleam An amber ambrosia; a bounty of Queens! No little love lost, nor enmity able to wrong the unrightable place at the table would tear from my hands the last stone in the stable And yet I would kneel for the means. Glittering golden stone tossed to the torrent No kingdom nor crown within reach would it warrant parting with that which I hold in my heart: A faith in those friends by my side from the start. If the sky opens up; if the heavens drop down If upon my own stargazing head falls the crown May our time in the sun be too buoyant to drown and my wish never tear us apart.