Her body belonged to the ocean
and her heart to the stars
and the moon
and the night
Her lust for love and adventure
was deeper
Than all the secrets
of the ancient
and forbidden seas
She was a mermaid
with the blood of eternity
and the hope of dreams

Writing poetry
Happening now when sleeping
Dreaming while dreaming

I see the trees trying to grow large enough to leave this place.
They were:
Hand-Holding-Plants
makinglovetopeace

We are:
as if  statues  building  one another
large enough
to destroy themselves

We are the wicked,
making love
to our sickness.
and when wicked
is the eye of the beholder
we build a great and terrible machine around us which we call Us.

It is the shaking scared skeleton of a forest rotting away from a place which beauty built in it's sleep.

the motion picture of the horror sequence of our mind.

The world bleeds out the fire of man

Born inside a seraphim skin
we abuse and build death
around our bodies
in connected piles on the ground.

waiting calmly.
coming in for the ****.

an anthill
vacated and caved in
until everything is finally
quiet and still.

you can not grow skin
on a mausoleum
and wait for it to breathe.

while you sit
and you wait
your own skin
will leave.

when nothing is left to die,
in that time;
no one is left to grieve.