Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

The gyre raised ire
‘til wellies waded.
Her ships had faded
‘neath loosened lips.

But when the sun-
blocked hips eclipse,
our sands spin quick
to hourglass quips.

…where you literally just wanna gimble in the wabe?

Such a sly silence
slithering to tomorrow.
I should just reply…

… on Netflix.

This makes day three that I can’t get the Stars Channel theme out of my head.

I think I’d prefer the apocalypse.