Ostrich oligarch, numinous, the passive nugget cremator, on satin robes to Zephyr’s heaven.
I tether my sandal’s heel to oblique destinies of narrow backs of sparrows. I flow to vestibules,
and incline in the storm of Rasputin’s sail chasers. Sinz is not the character to rasp.
I alone make the coiner part of my invent. I release the gay doe to frolicsome minces,
restless tidings of endearment to the mint of Orandus. I goad time from the usurper. I grovel in the cane, sheared of knowing, following deal makers to an anxious recision,
the water of the bench, the salient and the deceived. – Sinz