An assassin on the island of golden hysteria
Lowered his head with fancy religion over the fires
Doves swirled about a crown of flesh with circular intellect
And tore apart a ring of spice left from the dead
A terrific halo for hunters of men!

A splashing of blood rhymes
Map out the beach, placing grids in red lines!
Echo of lullabies sung to victims before they died
Songs to sweeten the air with lies!

Along the shore perimeter doubt scatters water ghosts
They seek nothing but to chase parties of flying fish!
Decked out! Along the crest of tides float dinner arrangements
Table and chairs set up for this dish!

"Let beauty influence the architecture of thought"

Tender female legs
Fall over the town
Drape over our morals in the evening
Not sure which way to go

Feelin such a way
I could pull dynamite out of my heart
Explode the day with kisses
Kiss crash against our stone philosophies

Not only have I withdrawn into the depths of my imagination but have lingered there for some time now and results escape my consciousness like impatient fragments unprepared and dressed like foreign fire.

All stains will be misunderstood save those which design intuition upon our sleeves.

We must pay attention all over again!

Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.

Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?

With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.

Spend time with me sister! The sister I know I don’t have, a confusing passenger in my mind, that continues to bleed upon the apple-peels in my daydreams, where has your real reason for being envisioned burrowed? Is it not beneath the coal-white heated sands of my misbehavior? Or in the convenient pleasures of misjudgment. Either way your whisper wasn’t loud enough for my distracted eyes, those mobile shells recording the affairs of a race in which I am far behind, far too interested in spying on the obvious I often rest.