Watching snow melt, examined as metaphor in all context-related circulations of
quasi sub extractions of explantive conjecture, airs the dominion of the seeker of
Solomon’s refractive insight to a wisp of a straw on a weary stone.
The watercress of knowing is to internalize my subjective affirmatives,
deriding those instincts to teach the so thought less informed (they know more than shows).
Instead my gulp of Ishmail’s intense struggle becomes fodder for my own integrity,
which strengthens my heel against thorn, the want of the dagger to remit my climb to
peace never leaves the sheath’s buckle. I rest in the valley, the cool spring and tall grass,
far from belly of the misbegotten trudgeons of vainglory.
Ask to view my worth amongst the richest of men, see of how little I have of more.
Yet I am a king, carried on the shoulders of the naysayers, I am The Smile Of The Sandman. – Sinz