15 09 2012

Cracking. Chemical dust blows against the anguished alien. Time sleeps under the mantles’s blanket. Cold light laughs as little ones scurry under gray skeleton limbs. Chlorophyll is frozen like the consciousness of care. 2062 is done. The root trucks patrol the last water—a sewage pond. Tomorrow raven tentacles will sflide 2900 feet to the mantle. Up to the barren land, they will save the crustaceanoid’s with pure heat—the salve of salvation.




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