Could there still be love when you know not what I am
I who is changing
In the processes of being
Could the mind understand the non static of the self Believe in the morphing transcendence of the heart where
           I
          am
        NOT
     who I was
Will never be who I am and am forever in a flux of continuity
When you feel my heart it is not the same heart from yesterday
Nor... will it be tomorrow

      An event
            I        
          am

Is it something you could miss
Unfolding in the wavering hands of time
Shimmering with the vibrancy of movement
Being made and remade each second a molecule does stretch
Could you love me with the changing of every breath?

I heard there was a secret chord
That was played and it pleased the lord
But you have never cared for music have you?
But it is worth the baited anticipation
Its glory brings strong men to knees
To cry like a child

Baby I've been here before I've walked these floors and know these doors
What more do you need from me but the assurance of all my deeds
Understanding what I am to become
When in reference to you

But love is more than a victory march
It a cold and broken hallelujah
That screams from the depth of the soul
Shaking down the foundation of bone
Scattering the mind like leaves in the wind
Till nothing is left but that knowledge
Knowing more about yourself from the undoing.

And watching as this time I leave
Footsteps to hollow out the empty

1603

The going from a world we know
  To one a wonder still
Is like the child’s adversity
  Whose vista is a hill,
Behind the hill is sorcery
  And everything unknown,
But will the secret compensate
  For climbing it alone?

Sipping cold ale blend staring at the screen waiting for the end
End of the words end of the lines
End of this paper crime
Its morning the cold chill of scented rain
Two ales down
Finger tapping tipping the iambic rhythm
Wishing it could be over
The words go on filling the blank spaces.

I read untill my eye hurt. Shudder and blurr lines
But I can not stop
Moving picture only capture my attention but for a moment
Their voices scream and titilate my ear
But words become more than they could ever hope to be
And I wonder if I see more in them than in the spoken
You could write me and I would understand better
Pick out your subtext and feel your heart
Wringout your feelings and motive
Maybe its the detachment the third person God
Overseeing the world but not apart
Reading helps to escape
That relaxing kind of lost.