weird

[cacian]

in the pastures of my dreams
I speak of nothing
but my spheres
I measure tiers
I covet fears
dwell on some weird
aluminium of the weir
and have nothing but
my dear
selection of things queer
to keep me brill
in the near
in the far
in the future coming
clear
I raise my sphere
to higher gear
and wish for swift
element thrill
but I fall still
I have no will
I am nothing
but a dream
amongst the obscures of my realm
I speak myself
fantasize might
I get a bright
way out to light