Those days when you would spill the stories of ages; the symphony of laughter as the bear on top of the mountain looked like the dust housing my habit. Hating the lines, spurting the lives wondering when will it be time for the little man in the blue beating sun to create a family and habit seedlings; covered in your moon. Chase me so all the tea in china tells me the truth. With ground beneath common sense, the heart finds its eclipse. I stuck out my concern. I used it to shake the time. These prejudices acquired by and for all the sweetness of the lines, but by not topmost height.
So many are in my pond you know;
the deed love,
mayan the word,
the word and owls,
born out of the elongated cranial inside,
and now I am we. Think, so we become. It is the luminance of my old life, they are certain, developing into unkind diagrams. So strange, weilding my truth as their lamp. Morning is and blossoms rain as the bumblebee becomes a folktale.
I miss Goliath, and the giants. Caress me as if to reveal your secret remains, shedding your skin within the temple.
Contemplating; do not refer to a reality you can never catch. He lived in the wind, as you should, and kindness from the clouds manifests as you. Deteriorating the collection of yourself which questions me, “When did stars masquerade as satellites. When did satellites masquerade as stars?”
The sky is beautiful as a flower garden, but if these eternal truths steal you unto themselves, shall you disappear without sharing it in me?
Being a refuge hardening into a tyrant must be candid, rebuilt from gentile manifestations; thought follows the body, as cherry blossoms rain down from the heavens.
The wind character dances; I am left to wonder, who struggles for her scheme?
Lets get lost in the songs of crickets, somewhere there is a place where minds fit to find mornings and the thought is painted but once.
Rah clung to the great friendship and screamed “Impossible to separate humans from stupidity!” before he burned off the wart. Slipping leaf slumbering on the froggy pad. Only two things are yourselves, and one will wipe my tears; carrying down the truth, covering the seedlings to fascinate.
Don’t get down, searching for your last breath, before the intolerant witch realizes she will never connect the minds. Love one another through the air between the light, like a refuge sharing a confused einstein mind. Give up on owning the world, the power of giving shall lift you to pleasure. Somewhere within doubt, laughter hides.
Ufo fancies of men interested in buying security. Rub the crystal skulls and partake of the pleasures. In this world by christ, buddha, zeus, and mother holding fast to the smiling dots that dance around far from the laws of earth and refreshed in the eyes of the innocent baby.
I sigh as you dance in the grass. Society crumbled rockabying on the treetops. Searching for my crescent moon friend, the stars castrate the tyrant. Refreshing the stitch through the hatred; incapable to cease being…
The shadow lit.
My daydreams whispered to me about the colorless night. Egyptians forever in the dew of of the planets that come in contact with hieroglyphs rendered teachers if indeed you believe that the home will be overcome of toads suiting a little girl. Somehow watching the airplanes, little things make the heart slide again.
Mathematics refer to reality, they are not one another, and have never been you. Let’s hide in the night. Harmony with one truth is a refuge. Look as the dew of little things; the storms that play havoc blame the wind for the white sun god. Myths weave themselves around me, an invisible suit. I don’t think I can bare sweetness of their friendship for another moment. It is like awaiting time to unravel perfectly to the pull; revealing the two faced truth betaking no response; searching for trees long passed since age eighteen.
Hercules was ungrateful when I almost caught him and crowned him prince with my dream catchin net. Little bot flying around the lamps, buzzing unto footprints, to the place where my Jehovah holds fast to the universe; fast to truth as a freckle on my hand. I am starving and unsure; this is a learnt silence from the bobcat tail passing my hand over the tongue, and sucking his garden with care. Let it spring from toleration. She’s so candid as beautiful questions race talking fast, and holding faster for a single meal.
Friday, August 14, 2009 at 12:19am