For Velvet Zoe Ramos

A good day lies badly in the sunlight a good day is good and barely livid and bright, she sails the moons ans pastures the sun the abortion failing ten times int he heart of a tree like a root growing by the drain light to mother copper wires lip sycing in to the midnoght light of a dim bulb flickering

asphalt and dust do not create the warriors of trees and moon' but

they do to

time is endless wondering your body is a canvas, a blister a song a catalyst a

dream for everything that is willing and good and free

unwilling is the mind,

But willing is the soul that patters ants and trickles rivers and grows snakes on vessels and bounds.

unwiling is not your heart

food it making fun of it

like is making like breath to be aware and smiling deeply smling like the grace of to joints missle and stretching to infiniate and none

other then the word

of white flowers on yellow

dust misses

the cracks and dust

this positive light upon the bow.

For Devonte Statik-Chaos Lisimba

Point lays finely on the grass, the dust is still.

a fume settling line winds still abrubt!

Caves live in the days when frogs leaped out of the fury and kept me starving,

this minute is bleak like the rock wail of an aligator. making its mind blissfuly climb up the furrows of its green and luminscent back,

and then we stand at the tip of a rope an artist licked by the corner feet of his own ankles express joy when he is blinded by the lips of others red right

before he beings to not hear sound but just song, the crown crease crowd

warms in to jeer and they are a bee stinging his diagphram, relentless of what he might cause

and narcissus waits

and I lay the waste in a pool of my own blood like

liquorish on the stepping stones of a park laced with snail trails and distance that glances the waking of fear in our hearts.

this is more than just a tale of maiming and playing

the plain unsettle this but when the subconsious leaks

so does Egypt lie and fall and lay it self up again in the claws

the female in the male, lazy is the guilt of the child,

the child within

he is stumble he is

deaf

he is witty

he is worry like plane

unknown to man

he is not finished yet his castle in the eye,

the baking of the water and the manta

rays

the lips syncing like the dayz

this forseen blooms over again the red embrace of men kept to each others

jaw shapes

I'll willows grip and

stay ,

I'll tulips are mown by the grass keeper

and yet thier thieft ferry can not die with the wind

or the splatter of the pythons rain.

time is not a meaning

It is bain.

says Who?!