ESTWINGING IT

Every day came on strong, his assets, not to massive, looked good on paper

Same Insane Avalon Jones a foundling so drastic, kind of day; was the way his hobby was waiting for later

Trudging towards the frozen green plain, he did, his field was called Gerald Major

Whimsical him, taking up his whims he looked up at the savior.

Incredible sanity, became him, outlandishly, far away from society’s collective cultural theatre-hater.

No one but him could call the tundra his

Gone was he! nature was alive! aloneness was on his thunder’s list.

Ingenuity, with immunity was his runaway mind, for society at his kind was with no slack cursin pissed

Numbered was his days, with thunder he was about to decay, grim was his wit's cracked urgent risk.

Going up towards Andromeda became him, and he was no longer tread on me with the serpent missed.

Incapacitated was he but he earth dived again back down to reality

The trees of 300 million years ago which thrived then became his new mammal rationality.

- AD

- 10:43am

- 2/20/24

ESTWINGING IT