the poet's aphorism
Let the skies peel open like fresh wounds to pour scorn at the stars
To receive our carbon-based flesh felt screams
So that new heavens can be carved;
We are sorely in need of a few more Gods...
Let the skies peel open like fresh wounds to pour scorn at the stars
To receive our carbon-based flesh felt screams
So that new heavens can be carved;
We are sorely in need of a few more Gods...