where does the line between rose and blue lies opposite directions meet me at the edging spot is it a coma or a dot? melody swings like bird sings swimming in sun dust some silent men and women clear that noise in the time sun rises hold their brushes clean streets today have no smell of spring i paint a lot for that, the smell of start my hands are aching drying out black inks formed to letters formed into paws long pauses and a quick jump of a cat chasing birds feathers cry of help breath in paint smell ,crush, cross, ruin that line Imagination is fooling you start the lies.
no cream can help to cure your featherless skin Sunburns are breaking walls. isnβt it heartbreaking? i bite my hands to the blood meeting dead birds they are the first flowers in spring victims of unclear hands turned out to be dusty paws last breath of aching winter long long time before rose blooms it has her spines sharpened before strike no one can get inside your mind line of thought is under words line of rose is under spine line of blue is under song of a bird carryied away with the gentle touch of a watercolored brush of a woman or a man.