A Place Where The Wind Falls & Drowns As Sights & Sounds Crush Beneath Like Waves

With wings on their heels and gills on their necks. Feathery folds and diamond scales. Streams of haze like neon dust. A siren nests on a tree as seasons pass. Brokered bets with jewels to keep get snatched like coltan mining fields. Built on spins magnetic wheels like rolling hills outside of Goma. Serving roots like Malidoma on bare-feet routes behind the scenes with a bag of powdered Iboga.

Bees on wax like fleas on cats. A tradition of masked messengers rumbles unseen in the voice of the leopard's songs and drums. Steez on max like rizz on flux. The wind awakens the thought of man like hinted gestures from the silent ones.

Below the towering peaks, whispered phrases from filtered gazes stitch like a quilt of vagabond priests hiding in the mist from the all-seeing guild. Two eyes in front and three more at the back of each twin-headed beast. Granular grids like devouring teeth blink like a purging flowering tease.

Fish of the river, fish of the sea. Visually voicing domains of chaos in cyclic windings of mystic findings, vivid sightings of spectral signatures constellate like Nsibidi writing. From lore to law, iron core like the snap of a lion's jaw breaks as a mighty roar riffs on the diagnostics of rhythmic timing.