Bought out to the middle of nowhere and sent flying somewhere on some sort of shot, darted, pasted and sold, subterranean homesick rocket.  Dylan didn’t approve, so he sent me the other way and I ran into a block of hammers or a hammer of blocks, either way it doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that nothing matters.  And the sound of nothing mattering is what makes everything matter.  It’s what make the silences in between the edges of the bed so silent and so pure and so daring and caressing.  That’s why I can say what I can say.  Or at least that’s what I think it is, it could be a million things, of that I’m sure.  But if I believe in no definite, how can I be sure of that?  I can not even say that I know nothing.  Because saying I know nothing, means I know something.  And stating that as a definite.  Maybe that’s the point.  Maybe I know everything.  And everything I have seen is everything.  And nothing is more.  But that’s too simple.  It’s too anachronistic, it’s too cynical, too pessimistic and too run of the mill.  Easier to be a clever pessimist than anything else.  And that’s why the sunset I see only exists through the curtain, through the window, over the trees, sparkling the mountains.  Until the fire consumes and the curtains and the windows call for me to send them to an existence of sharp grains, and that’s all there is.  The idea of me becoming sunshine. Until it consumes me.  Until I become sunshine.

Adding moon and sunlight to the entire composition of something grandiose
Bigger than its old self
Failing to a find a light in myself
Is like finding fault in God’s work
And considering it completely void
Never believing in the all-powerful song-laced universe that within itself
Has meaning
Believing that everything has to be explained
Everything justified
Nothing mysterious, even less beautiful
Something we can rationalize
Something we can think rather than feel
And that I believe is the beginning and end of everything
One’s heart, one’s soul, one feelings
Thought is the habit of the discontent
Scrutiny is the hobby of pessimists
Love is the thought that doesn’t exist
Hope and acceptance
The feelings of the sax roaring through the night
Streetlights the guardians that lead me home
Meaning is meaningless
It steals beauty as if it ever really owned it in the first place
As if beauty was something that one could own
That one could ruin with a simple statement  
A simple sentence
The interpretation that is no longer subjective or opinion but fact
The end all
But there is no end all
In my opinion
There is only begin-all
There is no end of time
There is no time
If zero existed I wouldn’t be here
All there is
Is infinity
If something exists
It can’t not exist
It  can only exist
There’s no need to keep track of what doesn’t exist
Only of what does exist
And what does exist
Needs no explanation
Explanation is only a reason
A reason not to enjoy everything
That not necessarily consumes or surrounds
But forms a part of the composition
That flows like a bee from a hive to a flower
Forming a beautiful painting
Poem
Novel
Essay
Expression
And at the same time
Giving everything meaning
And explaining that there is nothing to explain
There are no rational rationalizations
No understandable understandings
Understanding is overrated
The only thing I need to understand is that
Beauty is beautiful
Only is only
Many are many
Nothing is nothing
It doesn’t exist
The only thing with the right to exist
Is me running mad through the city streets
Screaming with joy
Straight to the forest
With lights burning
And bouncing off me
As hit the speed of flight
And learn to explode
Burning across the skies
Learning to walk on the sun
And listen as the trees and the rivers teach me the true meaning of music
As everything as is
Listens
Never waiting for it’s turn to speak
To kiss me
The guy with the big smile on his face

I smile, run, jump, happy, shudder, cry FLY FLY
Don't want to learn to do anything else
Have no reason to do anything else
If no one else does, that's there problem
But never again am I going back over those mountains
The mountains that keep those insane, flames from reaching these shores and trees and birds
Beautiful birds
Physically and vocally overflowing onto everything around them
And why would I want to be away from that
A place where that golden mother up in the sky is never hidden
I will never ignore you or hide from you behind my ceilings and grey
I will never try to ***** you out with smoke
You are all I need
Protecting me from trying to understand/undermine your glory
These shores are ours
And every morning when you wake up and illuminate as far as my eyes can I see
I will show you gratitude by diving deep into the blue

What would've happened that day, if I would've asked you to come with me?
Was that all it would've taken?
Was that all that you wanted?

Would you have taken my hand and jumped onto the shells of those turtles with me?
Would you have smiled?
Letting me know that was the question you for so long wanted to hear?
Is what's fantasy for me, reality for you?
Are our wants the same?
Our dreams identical?

Do you imagine the times we could have?
Moments that never happened?
Kisses we've never shared?
Embraces with prominent absences?
Love we've never made?

Do you play with your hair, as I bite my nails?
Do your smiles mean the same thing to me as mine mean to you?
Are we laughing for the same reason?
Out of ecstasy?
Anxiety?
Excitement?
Do we flow in each other, like water?

I reveal everything I feel to you
And I will never mind that
To you
I can be naked
No aprovecharas

You feel my heart
Let me feel yours

A charred frame
of something
that may have never
**existed

Where were you on that day that I met you?
On that day that you leaned against the wind lost in thought?

Were you in the forest seeking a spot where the sunlight bled through?
Were you on the beach looking for that dry spot of sand you could sink your toes into?
Were you flying through the storm-clouds looking for a clearing?

Did you recognize me as a limb on the same tree?
As the same handful of water that quenched thirst?
Was I to you a different piece to the same being?

Were you running through fields of roseless thorns looking for a patch of rye?

Did you acquire that embrace that was so long denied you?
Did you find a window in that house?
And if you did was light shining through it?
Did the light burn your skin?
Or did it kiss you?

Have you committed a crime that was committed against you?
Did the punishment that your transgressors avoided, find you?

Have you dived and looked for Atlantis as if it was all that mattered?
Were the shining lights of the city too great for you to hold back your tears?

Did that gust of wind smother the flames in the forest and take you past the sky and into the heavens themselves?
Were you soaring high with the stars, watching trees sprout from the infertile sands?
Did the skies open up?
Did the beyond move closer so you could reach out and touch it?
Did He touch your face as tears of serenity streamed down running to His hand to evaporate into a place you'd never have to discover again?
Show me.

I'm always reminded of a dream that I never had
Where I'm reading a story that I never got to write
To a girl I always wanted to kiss, but didn't
When I take her to a place of vast personal importance that I never found
Where I wrote down something that I never felt
About something I experienced, something divinely beautiful, that I can't remember
For some reason