Long had they wandered, seeking the scent of shadows drawn by flickering flame,
Where whispers met the thrum of invisible machines, obsolete and irrelevant,
Melting dreams collided with shattered fences made of forgotten memories,
Three roses stood dormant inside an aplomb of bursting capillaries and cracked porcelain—
Amid laughter dressed like fear, the release of hopes so narrow became fables.
This supposed 'haunted ferry' was anything but ferry.
“Sweet little disaster,” he smiled, while committing hair-raising errors with grave fish.
The clock strikes twelve, again and again; existential pricing wraps at ten-dollar tutus.
Find eternity or get lost in the cosmic vending machine of irrational thought!
Wherefor art thou, irrational sectors? If only trees could conduct traffic...