disrememberedthe smell made bunnies want to hide but they couldn’t find anywhere to godisremembered
an uphill struggle in the straight away battle left pockmark bombed the sacred land parish. comrades, called to line, dragged their legs behind a face of past pursued bandit run aways, who in fields would sow braided wheat carrying crime's crippling curse their balls' brambles burned mazes through tangled tumbleweed with no way out.
freed birds read humanity's crisis as mental imprisonment in outstretched acres of misery's mindset fastidiously scrawled in twisted scripts &nb
12345678910111213141516171819wire taps found the filthy couldn’t be counted12345678910111213141516171819
coroner shouted off the bus – all who want a ride have entered and now we're full so on they go. one last look at the side winding wonder awe filling splendor of the life of pretenders (metaphors are everywhere) up hills and down them, through storms and out them all seen through the tinted windows as a sign that the still life is idle. but not on this bus, that's the outside not the in, because these wheels go round and round
heard voices in the head no way to know if they're even possibly from the dead, they might be just thoughts that
they stole the third tendoni switched tongues with the cat so we didn’t share germs after she drank my waterthey stole the third tendon
green grew from my head it grew quite tangled so tangled the priest burned it to send it upwards that god might make his attempts little did he know how fast green burns, melds, solidifies, becomes one joke's on him, now isn't it did god laugh too he might have chuckled a bit it's hard to ruffle status quo feathers with these measly earth bumps even when plates are colliding to pop the heads off those hoping to sneak a peak at hell doesn't make sense really that he would have his hands so bu
scratch thatas i was all there was i had to make do - scratch that - i made a choicescratch that
gouged, a tattered soul holes drilled in, life poured out tunnel mediation synchronizing with the skin to keep the light out, let some in
gracious gauge.let in by whim the glow transcends the route of the wind (thesethoughts create thesea)
sudden and awake
[finding my own eyes] imprisoned as direction prescribes the mental invasion - stabbing glare [what i saw, saw me]
i look up to be stared down >
((a mirror's only glass
september's
--
Warni
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" Art is a proof that there's something more than emptiness " - M. Proust
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