1

________________________
You're drinking the sound again.


___________________________________________......__________
I opened the morning through the window. The grass is not blue but there are
layers of clouds with free spirits.

The mountains have woken with cranberry whippings, and the apples are:

a) not leaking
b) not in the ground.

So, where are they?
I stand firmly on the inside, staring at the blue remaining above.
Where is this leading?
Towards peace?

From the sun the door fell today and the pen and pages swallowed the great blue sky
Your thin lines and pagan manners were carved on stone, the tribe allowing this, being sold for food.

There are two sides to each story, this has been proved and the process was not fulfilling.
This is where the light strikes the truth:

You adopted a somewhat timid position, not that I mind.
But we can't hold a flag together against repression, if you want it to happen.
Your side has the devil's access, so go and be wise again.
From the other side, where trees drown in their own roots.

I have another side, that shoves gifts upon my threshold without wanting to, everyday.
This is where we shine.
But I have to break the bad news, there, a twist.

If the notes are played correctly, we can work a scale that will make those girls leak, that will make the wood break.
But if not, then we will not only lose time. I will, then, have tainted your momma's gown in your name.

It's the acoustic shock,
the pinching of the nerve,
the biting of the lip,
the thought I thought would make you cringe.

What do you have to say in defense?
The honors have been handed.

Our Thursday, This.

Here's a thought: Had this been a true story, I would not be sitting here today.

Lenghty, thursday night. The masks are off and the choir puts itself in place.
The clock pushed the tempo up, alongside with my temper as I couldn't manage to sweeten the room, your marks were missing and I couldn't tell why.

Slow and heavy as they were, the sour hours were dragging themselves into the room.
They try but they can't make a better world.

I easily breathed along with the choir, clapped the possibilities away.
Curtain call, goodbye.
But to say goodbye is to open another world of possibilities, nevertheless you came seeking the Rainy Voices and their Rage, to my surprise! as my fists loosened and to the wink of an eye that brought back the curtains to the light.

What happened from that moment to where we stand now?
There is more dust here than anywhere.

As your usual easily-driven you, did not say a word.
Still I read the disappointment you were conceiving, in natural ways.

You said: "I wouldn't mistake this."
I knocked on white wood.

The tables were not turned for us, rather switched roles for themselves in a sacred dance we couldn't keep track of.
What does this mean? The magic was softening our brains, up there and down to the shoes.

We may be sitting next to each other but we're separated as we try to find the affective words that pull us by miles from an ambiguous wave.
You opened The Book of Women but it seems this inadvertently stabs our fingers in dispassion.

I thought we had what we needed.
This is a good one:

At your moment you had it all.

Same here.

And the betrayal was feeding from this, we knew because we've been here before.

I began to realize that you were taunting the degrees of separation, working them with your fingers you managed to hide your anger in a proper way, giving her a risky blessing under Bethlehem's range.
She had a pepper smile and bounced back the blessing, this time in Mary's name.

But on the other side she would be arguing in a fever glow.
But that is what you need, and you will have it whole.

I created the moon and from your New Yorky eyes you barked at the night.
Outside of the chamber we walked to a westland.
You conquered both the bones and the brain.

From here until Sunday.

Have Her

(If you're going to) Have her aroused, do it on a mountain.
Do her whole, short and sweet.
Disguise your anger today and bend her three-quarters down on the floor.
As enough of a woman that she is, she would want it.
Her rosary falls down to the floor as she bites from the tree.

You have made her a woman.
But she would not want this for the following days, hold it inside.

Lament (White)

Now defeated,
to valleys that have overflown within the impossible hour.
I will follow.

Briefly
settled. Almost through the nose and down to this valley in forbidden hardenings.

"It has become pale"

They will be lucky to reach your unreasonable heart.
Down-a-scale but I watch your words
I argue with your unreasonable heart.
When cold as snow
Not looking sideways: "The sun suits you"

How to work a twist, rubbing your head the wrong way

You are soaked in the sun.
I can't help but wonder if your fossils were once sweet when
drawn into light-years.
In blossom.
Towards an abysmal descent within frames of frozen drops in the air,
falling down to a rose that has open white arms, in a firmament.

For The Future

Have it.
Autumn speaks in tongues for the future of ourselves, but I need to look at the past.
There you overfluttered my valley.

The remains are easily forlorn. "A sphinx has been civilized."
The girl returned to your calves.

I was smart, fool.
With you being baptized I was able to unlock the sky.
But further looking I see you faking
as your hands held ice

for a repressed nation.

I try to speak in meaningful twists but rather hoping. You are not nodding.

Irony has
smoked
your
bad
blood
out.
To be able to cry is not to be able to hold back the fear.

You raised a tale, told a tale, decorated.
My money is on the table:

"She probably sucked your life today."

"Is that right?"

Unbreathable Sadness

The candles found their way into dimness.
The light was here earlier, but left with a brownish curl.
I am not thinking.
What a calvary:
I have fallen for wonders that have circles in every corner.

You came to Roseville once, to light my grass.
There were massive boulders that washed away our survival, but we traced a line together.
I taught you.
You hid your rosary but there was not a single drop of guilt in your eyes.
I taught you.
You hid your rosary and the ashes from your tombstone.

Your vain interests are circling over my head, and the truth steadily laughs at your black humor when I begin to realize you don't please me.
How do I manage to have you please me (with yellow-brownish happiness)
having me pleased you before,
ignoring your ravishing, impeccable swagger.
Passionless swager.

Back to the field, to the Calvary.
Who's to know if St. Christopher's blood cells have any advice left.

I moan here. But I remain mute for you.
Solar shields are heading south.
Jesus knows where you stand:

Overseas.

Clockwise

Today "you" is an uneasy word, that easily slips by.
I needed you here, exhausted or bare.

I wander on my own, but you were meant to say something.
I am waiting for the lava to hit the shore, where I stand.

Clockwise.

I am not used to your approaches being brief.
For once the sunflowers are now turning to the other side, not facing the sun.

Plans, Journeys.

These days there seems to be betrayal floating around in our block.
But what do we all conceive as 'justice' ?
You smiled but you hid your past.
As part of your plan.

As part of my plan I can prove there are better ideas on this side,
but you're not stepping out of your game.

/

They carrying a sign that spelled WISDOM was not a true portrayal of wisdom itself.
I did notice, and as I started unraveling their layers I found that WISDOM was BETRAYAL instead.
Do you smell it, Oswald?
The smell is thick and full of hunger.

Do understand that WISDOM is not given to the right people.
But they smile to you, carrying the word of this fake wisdom, and I always knew their past.

To you I say:

I refuse to let you calculate your future.
And I refuse to let the omens find their way to your door.

You are knocking on wood, not so worried.
As if layed in comfy clay.

I will fight for my place.
I will fight for your place, I cannot find me without you.
(The honey is at the tip of your star.)

And I will render the wood for you to knock in.
If it's needed, wanted.