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letra de stoic - atlas at last

you’d think that he was kissing the earth, buried face and limbs haphazard
the surf lapped at feet sore from the tumble and the crush
you’d almost think he wasn’t breathing, in a shallow wake, collapsing softly
but who am i to integrate the problems of the waking world?
i could’ve sworn that he was smiling, craters and voids, palpitations so noisy you could hear
teeth and tongue thrashing wildly about, oh my god
he has never been this loud, what would you recommend to quiet him down?
through the dark roof that swayed, a clearing for light that bore –
anomalous, tickled him and the conidioph-r-
a podium for the celestial emissary?
scrawled in granite, led misfortune astray. what does it say? i’ve never seen anything like this before
the canopy creeks as the ancient place settles and sighs
dendrochonologically wise: concentric circles constructing parables of lost time
have you heard the one that goes…
“what are you, but me? an extension of my phylogeny. what am i but you, repeating?”
“when we can choose, how will it be defined? in organic shapes or symmetrical lines?”
what i saw…
his body is rejected by the environment
“they were this tall, they had gotten rid of skin. they could breathe in miasma and never get sick. they would flutter to the ground and slumber like death. they take the breath from the wind.”

- atlas at last

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