Upon the fog, we left our words - hapless orphaned syntax afloat in orange figures.

Their identical masks were sewed not with string but with
invisible cords bound tight around desires unseen.
Drinking syruped moons, the wheeled arboretum yielded
its final creeper.Attend the Widgets' conference.

Do not forget to water the clocks.

"Your umbrella returns not with rain," so said the gentle moaning
echoes in transient quarters. Six floor lamps illuminate
the path to nowhere special. Remember nothing.

To weave stories on the butcher's icebox
proves harrowing in such brassy chambers.
Simpler were the truths lodged betwixt quarrel and
crease, oiled-out till they've zigzagged home.Dive gracefully.