Take one step back
into the space behind
the busy street filled with tears,
filled with mirrors, and all mine.

Stand, or sit, or lay and be there
with Eyes listening, Ears watching,
and no-thing between here and now,
and a time with words - then and how.

Can you taste the sounds of random melody?
Eighth notes galloping across the wild plains
forced to abdicate their very nature
and, instead, liquify to pure impurity...

Sense is chucked and the tin lid slammed.
Reverberation echoes with concentric chaos.
The end of life is strung tight
and bound and tuned with nothing but sweet loss.

The prelude, which this proves to be,
is forever without a name.
Buzzing with streams of liquid dreams,
transparent with eyes all the same.