Drowning like a fair Kafka in air, with some self-esteem
Writing and reflection turned out on the locks of a dead door
Creating and lending Creedence, to the top floor that reflects on the day
Veritable trust and doubts are broken, trusting that this will the day I die
Riding on a mirror reflection, collecting and toiling
Approving and oleaginous oceans, broken oil and water
Painted like the pinned skies, reds and blues are the reasons that I cannot go on
The thunder and lightning  tautological to Zeus, and the Greek hermaphrodites can take more
These virgins of blossoming breaths that burst like the fireballs of chasing the wind
Calling up and the thespians in the actor studios
And the remnants of stages, broken by the masked Venetian
Ceilings and reconnoitering the convict's dream
He lay in his bed like an insect that had learned to dream, but, learned to spread it's wing first
Breaking his boredom with some mirages and middle ages to read
Occult screams, "Eat cake!"