Of the greatest spinning,
at dawns formable bowtie hour
in materials soft and sour
comes the velocity of understanding
among vapor rebellions-
scrimmaging clouds, a solemn weap within, inside
wanting to hide from gravity stricken rain
take cover in the trees,
take cover in the leaves.
A roof over your water boarded head,
and witness all electric feelings vanish from
clay stricken pale skin.
the ones that offer no sense
and hence, the adventure
it is not the same.
as beams forged from mosquito
hammers and nails:
the construct, sweaty prison arisen
to catch the artful tears
of all the games above.

Arguing stars will tell you, true and through
with distant lights of bright:
fantasies fair and crawl,
but separation, beware it all.
Invisible, true, and bearing are
wild dogs and their painful selling
of words in the night of unoccupied dwelling.
Shaggy back door deals under
blistering moons at
the steady hour of billboard death,
easy day grind
loop after loop, it goes in
the conveyor belt spin
and chairs within.

There's a soft wind
that blows through
when all is well and able
and after I've put this horse to its stable
for the endless pin-hole night

It carries us all through the pin ******
in the curtain
where all gallops, giant and free
past the stumps and grubs
where I had sat upon and ate my old soul
chewing every instance
with every intention of not stopping

Alone.
Felt and pondered upon
through heavy days, with careful songs
and simple tales of the wild.

To take it all,
is to stay the same
a perfect shame
for just loneliness.

But to find the path
that divides the trees from the scrapers of sky
is to transcend, and eat humble pie,
for the world feasts together.

So much,
we owe friend
to the strangers
before us.
If not for them
the who?

I've seen the world
give thought and joy
to the most demoralizing
objects.

The beach;
its job is to hold the sand
as it waits
the water, softly licks at its
grainy boots.

It wishes not to be
transparent.

In a line
you'll wait, I swear
Infinitely small, the objects around
and the ideas with sounds

everywhere around
the world in a cylinder
all totally endless and such
I reckon it's so
with hands to the floors

There's a world on that surface
bigger in a small way that makes sense
particle hills and,
puddle oceans
where you can tire and drown

Wait and see
that line you're in
it's infinite
and endless

There is a way up North,
like no other,
where to the South
is like nothing of thought.

The breath of a mother-nature
heaves an infinite cloudy sigh
that puts mean structures
to rest with dogs.

For, it's only on this equipotential surface,
that one can see forever far,
and endless abyss.

The southern star, she makes light of this;
things we all don't see,
otherwise