Spazzmatazzle

Eyes, the windows, they have been committed to a sleep of plaster. I've grown a swamp due to marrow falling from my fingers from stretching for false hope and tainted breath from a dandelion hot air balloon. O, my splintered crosses, how you clog my consciousness. Choked up on nova-cane stopping my desire. Adjust my throat to voice harmonizing promises. My life is out of its socket. Freedom is found when my train is back on its track. Movement is its everlasting home. If home were to be grounded in one place, there would be no one else to get to know. Ice is technicolor in brief sun rays, but it leaves a chill and memory that spr