Plane Dancin’

Desperation crevices the dirt-covered broken faces tipping religion like death…..

The flame throwers tock the clock carelessly like artists into blue-purple-yellow-red-orange speckled seconds that beat in my mind like a thousand pounding drums. ….

These shining storms hold the quill to a great monologue. ….

One lone hole; she left earth covered in paper-cuts; anxious in reality; naked in the leaves; pocketing shadows and dancing to music no one else could hear.  Music for the swimmer painting her dance on reason’s wall; climbing to memorandum and to truth…  somewhere.  Somewhere past night choking in deaf ears.  She combusted into gasping moonlight, opening the wide world, screaming of trust in attempt to unplug anyone’s mind.  The rust catches shards of past; burning with tomorrow’s flowers so the abstract unite for an evening within light on a raven’s wing.  ….

Beneath the earth painter the heavy-wet-clear-red-clonk smashes the moment.   His rock small, yet his emotion imminent; the piercing time screeched like metal as he waited and watched.  There was but one who could wave away the suffering and stench and waste he left behind him; God. ….

In the path of nature left discarded and ruined there are sobs and demands that reach out like fingers to touch the night sky.  Time throws down stars to act her age.  What crude sphere chasin’ of bloody years caught in shards; the room displaced, there is no raven walking from our world any more. ….

Find a smile, moon, and a prayer for this earth beneath you.  Unite this body with the caressing touches of the wind and the rain and the sunshine blushing fair cheeks.  Slow the pace within us and crush accentuating rumors on sour tongues.   Victims splinter the ironic wild for rebirth; they call to the path of tomorrow.  Manifestation is artistry thrown on freckled mirrors; eyes to a nightmare unending against the earth, sand dangles. ….

The inflicted that line drugstores to retched become; holding it in. We litter the corporate world touching a plug and dying for balance. Bombing in satan’s image, complete with disclaimers. Dreamers covered ominously…..

My earth reeks; insanity protruding the quill and the needle that stitches through the undertow abandoned in sun-baked pain. Earth rotating in bloody circles;  lost in fragments, time spent in the sun once before plump united hands open, chasin’ the padded fall. Dark and gasping, the bloody orgasm prohibited by God and yet celebrated by humanity. Here is nature’s only silver milk. ….

We are too dirty to see any revolutions. Even busy mother hides from storms.  Stitches need time to heal; my first of drips of manifestation.  Something circled the poison, the way lips caught moon prose paper like bathing in the syrupy dusk. Clock builders find the spins, calling the tune-perfect against the clouds somewhere. Fires reverberate our purpose dusk with touches. Understanding the head mess, she traveled to lips wrapped in loud clothes and honey skin; abstract in everything within and tanned searching for raven who once was here, the shining harlot ripped the drugstore tomorrow combustion to another plane.  Lustful rests and niceties dress the plagues of moonlight kissin’ the time of time  of science and the blue-purple-yellow-red-orange hands. ….

Dec 28, 2009 2:50 AM