Red Fig Tea Ornamentation of the most beautiful subtle line.

For what I did best
and in the death of my dreaming
I have calculated
pressed out the lettering for sounds.
Sounds will remain
lullabies for jellied white bread colored moths
holding behind Juniper trees.
And tomorrow as all will be painted in new day
I will not wonder about silence
I will not sit over paper pad contemplating the context with which I will displace the white space.
I will not marvel at the temperament of Octopus oval brain hulking my attempts of escape.
It is so simply easy
to be demoralized
to be a victim of pattern stretched so thin
that nothing is left
but the remnants of delivery.