the ocean vasewet and calm in slept shore ocean-top vase and flowers of bright light delve by grain and harvest moon. it takes time (soon!) lain upon vaulted fog, haunting long my eyes, my lies sound like caramel rolled in sand. dogs –the ocean vase
they forget at times a stick is not a meal licked veal blood drained from little muscle but instead the toughest the eldest the rusted limbs of ancient deals although often they are covered, shaded but not smooth brittle in ways far from fired sugar.
the petal light touches them anyways.
a dream in a friends bedthe thump of heart bleeds in aural drops in the pulsing of my lungs. steady are the steps which underlie and overlay this barren, pure land, where the monochromatic monotony can only find rift in a juicy scarlet sun. it hangs low on secret branches, ripe and inviting. inevitably my footprints trail under it lower curve. it is falling. I do not know if it is doing so faster than I am walking, but I suspect as such. somewhere in this land of white emptiness there marches fellow rife hearts, their destination concordant with my own: home. it is a home I do not know but for a feeling, a return absolute yet material. the eldest wait there, Ia dream in a friends bed
eyedropsimagine a drop broken upon the blade of sunset; it facets have no envy of emeralds or stars.eyedrops
Its composition has no number, Excepting the speed at which It falls (for how could we avoid that?)
it is as viscous as wood pulp in amalgam with blood and sweat – the pestle which joined them guided by thoughts of dawn.
imagine such a cut that two drops could be made of one, which would fall parallel into my paired palms. their faces ready for the touch of tongues, they would instead feel ruby wood s
floodpour of lion roar to mark designs of core; rings grow in trees of waves sonic spilt upon floodplains to grow and to wilt flower drops glow of psalms spit lowflood
upon a battle plain they grow…. and wilt. silt pools in pools and rivers choose the paths they show.
flood me, the blood of me will sow in me and grow
to wilt.
wilt thou space the plants in thy garden?
yet a flower is full of light in sight of what is ringing sown. in plantly mingling the sides can blend and darkened
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"All the deepest wells live their experiences slowly, they have to wait for a long time for knowing what has fallen into their deeps".
Friederich Nietzsche
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I hear you're counting sheep again Mary Jane
What's the point of tryin' to dream anymore
--
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-This is me-
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Playgrounds = The best thing ever made
Running = The best therapy money can't buy
Laughter = The best long-term memories
Dreams = The best low-budget films
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" Your A Women, I'm A Machine "
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Engineering Kaos - Love is the Law
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'people think youre not working if youre not making something, but for any kind of artist the time that youre notmaking art is just as valuable as the time that you are. youre putting new coordinates into yourself.'
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