As the whales\' spouts blow,
my whiskers grow...

As i sit here,
enjoying...

Dirty obnoxious,
filthy precautious...

Sometimes the world fails to subscribe to human...
sometimes the sinner makes out bold, feeling...

Not another solution,
chaotic anti-nation...

Something gentle:
original prediction...

Mind, breaths slipping,
turning...

Flawless echoes from the middle distance,
creative existance upon us...