Bent orchestral trim

when raininghorse dutifully entered the race, bent orchestral trim decorated those points of interest up and down his face, musical bells drawn and quartered through butchered beasts in time, tearing down sledded streets of snow with karaoke close behind. it was your ghostly haunting voice and sway that drove him from the barn that day, your overtures beguiling eyes both opened closed and tearing skies apart with burning gaze, the ice turned water falling from those rafters, second phase. beneath this bed of sound, some building tidal vibration commenting on all that's fallen down, held apart like legs of frogs when boys on hunting mission take it upon themselves to starve nutrition, dirt in meat collapsed all perfectly and lapsed ministry of justice anglers fishing in the sea, all are fed and sent to bed where perfectly the bentwood frame eclipses moontide wailing from viola and fiddlehead, where did forest hollows find you cringing in the cold and warm you with her breath, that countless curve of old religion, raininghorse is taking in this vision.