Dead plains
Open air
My baby, my K,
Smells of lavender petals,
Defined despair.

A known
Vowel howls
Like she does at night.
Turning right she lights
All former antiquities
Prove wrongful due regularity.

A pressing matter topples
Next to the standing tower of rubble.
Grey stubble tumbles
Like hours out of the hands of a clock.
A kaleidoscope of horror
Makes the mind entrenched in narrow.

She tells me the name
Of a former lover of another
That pressed no buttons, rubbing
Everything
The wrong way.

We compare, we see a sea of troubles
Illuminating nothing but the past,
Never meant to be free.  

Trees shallow swinging singing
Like scythes across the yard.
Burgundy yarn weaves through my heart,
Cold as you were today,
I got nothing else to say.

Pressing matter, dear dead hatter.
Craziness is a beauty
Only the Cleopatra's of the world
Have to truly suffer.
Cradle me naked, cradle me dreamed',
Ain't no love like the
Broken sick and broken hearted'.

At least the darkness
Harkens thee dead ghosts of
Former lives forgotten.
Grey gravestones smell like
Roses given my former lovers;
Each hour with her is
One that will never be forgotten.

Present pasts pass me in the
Mirror; these shop windows are all colored
Green.
Caretaker saint, apple apricot skate, a
Note for the doctor stating
All is forgiven, all is about.

I remember the dream,
Shallow and filled with steam.
Fine patent leather, stitches and cream.
She pressed her face to mine,
Like silk string woven into seams.

Nothing is the matter.
Nothing passes the time.
Dylan hurls the harpsichord,
Gripping the nails,
Repositioning the boards.

The ice was to thick to climb,
The snow to heavy to see through.
Where you see your life is
What you think you can do.

Books on fire.
Trains of heavy steam.
Life is nothing but
An unforgettable dream.