I'm in the process of building you a talisman.
You will feel the weildable, swing-ability power from the kitchen table you lay it upon - all the way to the stores you go to, the bed you lay in, the doors you kick down and the hairs that leave your head whenever it is time they fall free and
make light softness of your ship made of seaworthy egg-stones.

All the paths out of here are on fire and I have always been the pissy wet blanket that needed a sweet-smelling job.

A brick-shaped vessel is parked outside and weighs a fuquing ton while still in the bay, shining away
but goddamn if it doesn't float when put twenty miles out in the deep blackish middle of the ocean
then every proper wave will carry us on.
I built those, too.
Hurry, before we get a Ticket.
And a "Hell-Lay Loo Yuh To Ya" seal for every leak!

Take this shell and hold it to your f'ear.
You will finally hear, with your own ears, Angels in the distance snapping scorched bones of the dead into neatly bound piles, and grinding warm blue eyes into cold iced pudding -home made face creams for all us weathered beasts of age and nakedness.

Soon, when shit is toyed, void and destroyed,
you will witness the evidence that demons are capable of sewing muscle tissue back together while the funeral march plays on.
Blood is what evil costs sometimes, but not always on the side of a sad, glossy loss of it.

Boxes sometimes do fit neatly in round holes.
Underground moles behold the six foot ugly demise, besides.

Migrations, always, but your flag is what leads us until you wear the crown, sail around, threaten the sea with your dignity
Survival and round sounds abound...