I fell off the deep end of her prophecy into a sleepless region of the night, There was a woman there ironing a shirt; topless; and some kind of bird flying a kite, I paced up and down for a while then got my hand caught in the machine of her touch, She squeezed a drop of blood from her lips and said “everything matters; but not much”, She said “we are here; the correct definition of infinity is yesterday”, The weather responded for me; it started to rain moons in May, She asked “ do you like the hum of my machine or do you prefer silent factory's snake?", When I accused her of the name Eve; she asked why I felt I had to name my mistake.
It will happen like a life time, Slow and easy soft and dream like.
I am the voice that broadcasts the zenith of your language, You will become the dust your dreams were made of, And the essential part of the nothingness will randomize your will into wishes and regrets, And then I will come like an epic and lay you in my lap as you orbit my hunger.
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