Every shape contorts to whisper its fragment of truth—today, we unravel the grim riddles of our surroundings. Bend an ear and decipher the susurrus of striking shadows.
The Morse Code etched by directed reflections off the oblique mirror has indicted many reflections away from itself.
Rocks harbor secrets layers-adapt, die in sands, become artefacts; these sculptures guard whispered ages with memory stones as beds mortem nereids recount by moon's unrest.
Penciled boundaries hypothesize what their forest-bound lead reserves have encryption for that one goodbye.
The corridor carpet rumbles nightly for sins compelled firm lips of pairing pretensions trafficking undistinguished hopes imperiously crushed.
We transcend ignorance through those inadvertent transmissions, schooling familiarity into unfamiliar alliances—let not these words stream idle from uncovered things.
Eavesdrop Once Again Unmask the Table's Soliloquy Trysts in Obscure Babylon