Shape of Dune

The volume of that utterance
For he who laughs last
Has no seniority in the matter
When heard by no one
A stark and cluttered time
A heart defacing mines
Secludes a sea rink to breach
Open log outings from the furthest attempt
The pinch of the few left nothing
Sidestepping the pit-patterings of recent urban oft-kept offerings
Malnourished by the rampant misfires of sword at state
Too in tune to keep the hush calamity profane secret
Much the patient nine and again leaps no boundaries
For only the servitude left unscathed
Breathes the imminence of what's left to come
These breed suggestions for the not-withstanding:
We are in the moment and inherently taste the breathalyser
Unknown by the skank flourishes, the true test to key is in apparent position
Ready or not for the fall of oaks and wasp of willows
He drips red onto wasp and lets seek the deafening serpentine
Opaque and orange nights collide in remembrance of these
And in other stones of quarry, the leap would appear to carry forward the safe taxation of truancy
I alone help the fallen beckoning of high rise and deepening plow of malfunction
Times appear to me as the wrapping of foul wake and close hours
Yours believe to have seen what cannot be replaced by loss leaf stone
Your ornament of moss influence and burdened cheap fix carried the bay forward
The reality of such is as tangible to the predecessor as the map laid out was meant to be believed
I just chose to dig a bit deeper on a bright afternoon in the hay-drenched accumulation of stain-wrecked spouting and piss poor pouting from the peppercorn underbelly of the llama lost beach
Succumb not to this illusion.
These trials for Nauntzwalt beg further for inclusion
No pride in this attempt.
Not one not-withstanding