A Written Spoken Word: Rune of Luck

Running up sand dunes,

      From the miller's anxious slow glass reverting to grains of above the avarice skies greed's bad no luck son is falling in extended malicious cat nails single puncturing digit palms as dogs chased them down beyond the frozen throne realm over of hell's condescension where the ashes of angels for whom the complication of bells stood idle never tolled, Therein held vocally tone ransom deaf unto inaudible chords unstroked by the touch of time's fatherless origin soul who would omit an overture of logically sound evolutionary speech to surrender all inhumanity incapable of resurfacing greed's crescendo of guilt unto shame's debt.

In earnest anticipation of,