3 Pastel Colours

Mantras of coincidence forebode a pagan collapse. Pavlov triggers a face on passing bus billboards as elegies rise from exhaust. Even the ripples in the stately winding river dispense a course of action or Xanax. Meanwhile, I deny the fissure between intent and product. The product shapes intent just as technique governs ambition. I abseil into uncontrol with a song in my head.