Conjuro °_°

Submit to her spell / forgetting to lie / What haunts is the risk / The lure of the unknown / The effect of the mysterious / No everyday approach can disclose / except in the truth of question / Away from the conventional flow / of every thing / where all the horses of Rome are bound / Captured / corrupted by cold and white snow. / Her old method of dealing, so slow / it becomes a flare / like thoughts folding down through the years / still the long, drawn out plan / of a slow destruction / Divine and pure beyond the telling / Her long deep phoenix bend of flame, / and the ending that came with a wave / replenishing her art with every winter. / All she can take part in as swallows / in their own ruins. / To pass and to pass and to pass again. / The manor built and described, / where the plume of his soul disbursed. / Not the eyes / Sad, the violins; / A motion so slow / The sense and sane memory repeat: / Her long deep phoenix bend of flame, / And the ending that came with a wave. / Replenishing her art with every winter. / All she can take part in as swallows / In their own ruins. /

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Artwork hallucinated under the influence of VQGAN+CLIP Poem co-generated under the scourge of GPT-3

°° by @JPBilowus °°

°° circa 2021 °°