Into this cloud of canvas I could fall,
Shaping my emotions like treasures on the wall.
Like a deathly hunger I cannot ignore the roar,
It deafens with its deceiving grin,
So loud in silent reality,
So bright in dark decree.
Fleeting forests fountaining, feelings flourishing,
Sacred sunsets sadly singing salutations.
Nimble notes noticed near nassaus nothingness.
Is it evil that paints this mural of my heaven?
The paint on the inside of my skull never dries,
before another coat drenches the lofty skies.

Pushing the snail to reach the fountain
With a simple wish to paint the world

Reaching the fountain to see the snail
In a pushed painting

Painting the snail by the fountain
Wish I did not push this much

Fountaining wishes all abound
In a snailing push of the paint

the little flaws in reckoning
have set the mortal coil adrift
and leaving not that much to sing
while listening fifteen times tonight,
the slanted needle in Betsy
Reed, Richard still remembering
& triple G with dreams to see,
cashed in with too much sobering
for even gypsies sharing leaves
and not to sentence anyone
to nailed up fixtures holding thieves
alongside someone else's son,
where tears and blood are fountaining--
perhaps there is some more to bring.