Another draft of another too-long, too-meanderous poem. I listen to too much NPR.

The creation of shadow necessarily undermined the function of limitations.
-the power of deity.
-threaten the gods.
-process is everything.
Midnight believes she is saving people from themselves:


Something like a net of prohibitive energy,
as with any net, there are holes
more limited resources.
words may affect just about anything they can imagine,
only with very limited strength;
the hand ever at their neck.
Dead magic.
An acute and constant entropy;
a more remote and short lived affect every time;
an affect other than what was intended or assumed.
Really, these are just places damaged,
or breaking down in words.


As in a three-day festival,
There is the political discussion, though
it is important to consider who, and under what circumstances.
Silvered ravens.
Rather fucked off by the whole thing.
As one might predict,
ready to fight at a moments notice, which always creates tension, blah, blah.
Has a price.
caw, caw
deadly as all get out and
Dragged along by fond hates
sarcastic enough
a good enough actress
Who else?

It could be the architect
He has holed himself up in his ponder.

Is the presence of ravens a sign they are willing to discuss?
Expressing mostly concerns about trade.
Left needing.
There is a good deal of money to be made in weapons.
A good deal of nothing to be done.
About Boreal loam.



Nothing has changed on this front