--- S T A N D A R D   S C H A E F E R

Demons orbits above and all that remains is bastions of access, rarely
accesible even through experiment or another blow to the head.

Drones in the imagination -- an event in the extreme.

Their commotion, luster -- as a kind of loneliness, bulky robes over the
imagination.

Just a fibrillation (2).

The demons becoming comets knocking against the head.
Drink one and you shall see -- milk is pavement (3).
It pins you down as stars go out.
Pinpoints (4) are limousines slinking across the sky.
To distrust them is simply to imitate at a gradually reduced speed.
And reduced to the point where all one listens for is the music
Is the music rivaled only by spin.



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(2)  Not a conception of time wasted.

(3)  Crossword.

(4)  Cloudbursts.