Jungian pistons.

those jungian sins
vowels sounds hands pointing down
mosaics of a prewritten history
arching backwards over our heads
down a knotted line.

No sounds whilst in the wild
Just animals Stalking the ground
Where the architecture once lay
you will now see a lovers ruin
the temple to the first known verse.

Have you ever tried
writing a play about the
planets casting dark clouds
in the waves of woven sands.

These are mean feats erasing Sands
that scroll in the palms of a hand
whilst pulling in the nets at night
Weaving spinning threads.

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