A man
Falls always from his pen again
And rolls a thought into a distant hand

As stories
Ever meant to pass
Are passed by
With the hope of hopes

That in someone else's world
His words will last

if we were born
of
the
dead
we get born again in the spirit
this shell is my womb
giving birth

my past intentions be past
what I wash my hands from doesn't make my hands clean
it is when the dust is all gone
we learn to breathe

the dust on my feet
is no different from me
if
i
choose
not to believe

we know ashes feel the heat


if
we were
born



of
the
dead
?









...
..
.

she folded her tongue
around my
wooden
fence
post
dreams
we can still
feel her scream
she folds her
tongue
?









...
..
.

they were running around
in
the
bushes

had an hoarse wreck

he dusted of her eye lashes



with



his








i's
that
was the
other her
your
delusional


you skipped
an line
an
line
she read on

he felt her eyes
my favorite clolour
we would tell you
but
then
you would
want her too

if
you listen
you can't
hear
an
sound

in the deepest darkest
jasmind blue
they were
tanning
around
?













...
..
.

he was an self taught graduator
he had one partial arm
fingers
to


he wrote one line
"poems"
they
were
nt
know'ms

so he guessed them

tathe other you
which me
who
are
you




past hushed who are you
by that stream
who are
you

one line at an time

who are you

that should read

who
are
you
stupid

he was an self taught










graduator
?

from what tree top


she had climbed for days
for days
four days
longer
she
climbed

her lumber so long
wrapped around mine
here we
weave
beauty
legs long
past defeat
she stretches
with
me
climbing
up this
foot
stool


what mother have you earth'ed
answer the question
with
an
other birth

we will lay under
above
as



taught





teach me past these pattern
that my palms by found
best with rain
that my
stone
be
polishe
from what
tree top
?










...
..
.