Oh well, now's a good a time
as any,
Scribble incandescence,
lines with no thought,
as simple as a lie
as life.
The true facets of humanity
exist unfledged in between the
smoke and mirrors,
Created by the Unknown Ones,
disguised as the steel makeup
of this fair city.

Rock: Ridgid and tough
Wood: Natural, eventual decay
Glass: Fragile and transparent/colorful
Paper: Lightweight and flexible, yet tears easily

Copper: Less expensive, down-to-earth
Silver: Shiny, allergic to my skin
Gold: Self absorbed, obsessed
Platinum: Tending to try for perfections or egotistic, ADHD or OCD

Air: Invisible and wayward, nomadic
Water: Flowing and graceful
Fire: Warmth and passion
Earth: Round and supple

Riding down the stoic streets,
Whilst the shy blossoms indigo,
before the deluge of spirits,
Start trampling and parading,
After the long pandering lat night,
Mind and body pounding like a
funeral drum.
A single procession hugs the horizon
and kisses the waves lapping on
forgotten shores,
Tossing and turning,
pulling head strings to remember,
gulping it all,
and put it down intrinsic,
with a nuance of perfection.

(I wrote these words:)

The Vagabond Dogs
Traveling the Earth,
Howling inebriated to the Moon,
To the Horizon,
Towards impeccable stars,
Guarded Jealousy towards,
Their Gratitude towards
Life.

There's a pandemic,
The denial of Self,
Not only of the surface self,
But also of what lies underneath.

In the depths,
Mystery,
On the forefront,
Chaos,
All the while the middle,
Spins concentrically.

Openly exposed to lands both,
Futile and Fertile,
On either side,
There slides,
Shimmering isles screeching,
water whirling.

(Handwritten horribly)

Excuse The pen
I walked all this way,
And my pen is broke!

With their tails flashing,
A brilliant white light,
Followed behind,
And was lost inside itself.

Their white shadow,
the soft bellied burial,
the creamy innards of bliss,
the silky crystal sphere,
existing inside and outside itself.

The wind blows the sheet in
Whispered movements,
many wings fluttering on the face,
from my pavilion under the parasol,
smells of woody incense fumes,
The grey of the sky,
Such charisma floating around,
Lofty bounds over this crowd,
Still insanity reins,
Silvered veins holding golden steel,
Who tells you this is real?