i see people throw thier lives away. i see them indulge in the sick shallow transience of consciousness, of moving from breath to breath however metaphoric that may be. i see the sad sick sorrow played on a recycled hymn over and over. fucking, drinking, smoking, they all tattoo sin on their skin, tattoo love on their arms, written in blood and ink, in tears and alcohol. numb.

iron and yellow and white.

bell shaped blossom, sun shaped exposure of spring.



see me run.


i climb to temporize.

i climb to listen to whispering.

so seeing grows small.
and hearing is consumed within the wild wild bloom of wind, of life.



so trite.
so cliche.
this is what they want,
nothing new.
nothing changed,
only cast in blue and rearranged,
they cannot withstand the edge of exfinity
of impertinence they float and gaunt they stand, sunken and sickly waiting to grasp ahold of the newest imagry to conform to


these paracites are sick, and i am one of them

so i need a mould to call my own because confidance is a brush stroak of humanity and i stole mine.

so no one is like me now.


because they seldom doubt their immortality, when i doubt the breath just expired as a feat of anything but a gift of miraculous

spoke harsh and slow. lips stained red from a bottle of wine, seamy lines defined the contours of her face. the hair was evident at this age, white and gray, like the pelt of a peach, subtleness and blantancy combined into some mutually constitutent characteristic privy to distance. the teeth were crooked. they were faded brown to yellow and black. gums worn low. i suppose disease had set in. the hour glass had been let to run regardless behind the rib cage in her shallow chest. she said "frivolity, makes the distance longer. absence makes the maintenance nothing more than a chore." this was 80 years wise of a adage. and so we have fallen




ferry across fellow souls.


ill keep mine. tomorrow, tomorrow there lies a

sun
blood strained from stones
under it

chemicals stressed and unowned
under it

green displaced and covered in that blood
under it

i see 3 clover leaves
but how lucky am i to be the 4th?