tresses dire
tresses green
cascading tresses
tresses exercise, chaos
fate, a skipping stone
meeting a pond
before crossing over
dropping
sleeping in a dusty hall
at one with the earth,
the wave.
At peace where i should be
as earth,
slowly turned and permeable
as a bird caught in the storm of the flock.
A bird song note struck
in the din of the century,
groundhog day of consciousness,
8000 terracotta to be buried with.
blue eyes has the wisom,
his old monkey red skin,
flea bags howling at the deities,
loud voices driving the chariot,
of the Denver Broncos.
Warriors of steel,
the embrace of my child,
is a moment to keep,
tethered to the surface of the pond,
with all the magic deity will afford me.

cbran

I'm a golden cami-soul
i can easily explain,
i'm a camisole in the rain,
i'm more naked than a woman,
than if i were kissing a man,
to free myself from dreary kids,
and life itself.
they aren't mine, they are mine
those ****** amenities.
Those darned lost years, the flying wick,
Job after job, noth-ing would stick,
i'm back to being a lady of the night.
It's my birthright.

I'm a winter cami-soul,
no eyes, no mouth, about 4 feet tall.
Drunk on my allusions, i'm out of wine.
I'm out of time.
I'm hanging clean out on the line.

his breath awaits,
the iron of the pulpit.
every one but the bartender,
says i "told you so".
I'm silken as a pair of jeans,
i'm a dime.

-cbran