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The universe that i know contains infinite infinities
The more i travel the more i see and more you think

There's an abyss of abraxas in dylan dog's comics
Here's an enstraged ghost of che on the motorcycle

We made it plausible for the pagat ultimo's elegance sake
We seek for the most Beautiful to crash us like soft waves

The immortal Beauty is the terror for the mortal passangers
The immortal Elegance is shown as an unforgettable life's style

You want the depth, you play games, cast spells, and reinvent
You want to become a persona grata, the gravity ***** you in

Today i thougt how nice is to draw a bit for a change
Today you didn't like to have hollidays from a belief

I have to acknowledge the worthwile sands of time
I have to succumb to universal subconsciousnesses

Mine unimportance is a hanging shall on a tied stallion
Mine thoughst fly high as two falcons toward your star

Thine tea is served with blood, sweat, and entrapement
Thine turtle is a giant alive planet, a colourful mounted

One
In one century importance becomes irrelevant.
In actual now do you consider ways to trick this fact?
Intelectual labyrinths of mind lead to a well structured illusion.
Inspirational people have borrowed the ignitors from celestial Divinities.
JJ Hutton Jan 2011
lucid in America,
     lazy, loose,
ladies of marble, hearts of stone,
the clouds are gathering,
     the trees sparse,
     coarse winds cool, collide,
realign the telephone lines,
smoke exits the nostrils in good time,
     three-piece suits,
     hard handshakes,
     heydays and hollidays both end in headaches,
lucid, loose, tight as a feather,
     riding the Times and drinking  empty cups,
     full and flavored, gentle, gentle,
     the melody is quaint,
     but the melody will play,
sing easy, kissing the graves,
the skeletons are lonely, ask them to stay,
brief and brittle, the remnants of the middle,
quake and make me realize the end has and always
will be nigh,
    egotripping brothers and daughters at pearly gates,
    walking crates half in dismay, half soaked in rays,
interlaced, tracing barefoot on interstates,
humming with the meadowlarks, humming at the dark,
sometimes we're art,
mostly we're stark,
      dancing and dying at once,
      trival yet trying, the beauty we're still buying,
      lucid, free, and easy,
knowingly drifting the pains, the plains
      of America.
Copyright 2011 by J.J. Hutton- From Anna and the Symphony

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