Vitriolic and Blue

I HAVE seen it

taking a stand

far,

from democracy

or delicious sunsets.

You seem to

have

read through water

and

sunk

deep in oil.

Never for me, for

aquamarine

affections

that fold themselves, (hidden)

and seduce your senses

but they (then) trigger

and like big

hydrangeas

drown you and leave you to rot.

I always knew BETRATAL had a somewhat blue hue.

Barren, Love.

Yes, the air you breath is holy.

And yes, I've been downgraded from the sky.

You gave your heart a reason.

I gave my heart a beat.

Yes, your passion was a newborn.

Yes. My passion was barely native, but pure and white.

Yes, you were fixed before.

I've never, but in this Earth

(and stay with me as I say this)

I have seen more and I have felt more as

I have walked on fire and broken glass.

Yes, you seem to have walked and

I myself have a reason (as well)

to love you

from my yellow sun who has

never been confused. Never.

Far across the room I see you from a wide crack.

Far and intangible.

You have read the score from a mountain,

a cold, severed, one-hit melody downwards:

Bb

A

Ab

E

It makes me coil, you are so far and upwards you rise.

I deserve you.

I deserve more.

I deserve more.

I deserve far much more.

Sky of Sixty-Seven Roses

Cotton-driven.

Impossible like a warm skyline.

The paradox within you and me
strikes against the moon and the moon

is tempting the waves,

the waves lick the sand and as I lay there I was a loon.

Aloof and a loner inside the Sky of Sixty-Seven Roses.

I see you (softly)

there is a shadow and a light to you,

divine and whole in my own terms.

a blasphemy to your own terms

seduced by white air across your warm native land.

But all in all I will have spring inside

when you carry yourself

blossoming

by the thunder

and saying: "you are gold to me

inside the Sky of Sixty-Seven Roses."

Inside Luciano's Pocket

Every single one of the Rosaceae were orange-blossoming.

They jumped on a vessel, in the salmon lake.

The minor leap of luxury.

But nothing of this is written on paper.

little Rosidae, when are you going to forgive me?

The forest is yellow

and you are given orange because pink wasn't on the canvas.

A little Irish snow came to greet your big and warm entrance.

Whether the flood is brown or yellow it does not mind.

I don't want to say 'flower' but there is

something inside the clock on the Ledger Wall

Something tells me that the days are long gone

amidst the autumn sun

inside Luciano's pocket

not warm

instead cold and forlorn.

Georgia's Fire

I have found you and (at the same time)
victory appears delicious and tasteless like wood.

This many white lights remind me of you again.

I have found you.

Your eyes across a line bigger than fire.

You have crossed a line

and have lost it

by walking across wood warmer than fire,

away, north

as I'm walking south.

Bright

The sun found you, early and

embraced your hair.

I saw it myself,

on a garden,

Black Pepper,

between the devil and the deep blue sea.

You and the sound of a harp,

between scarlet clouds I gave it all.

Against all odds I see myself traveling next to you.

New In Town

"How are you going to jump?"

Besides blue my face was also predictable.

You go. They have.

Joseph's nightmare has, as well.

They left because there was nothing left to their lives.

No blues.

I must have heard you a thousand times.

But never actually listen.

Long Avenue

I was dreaming,

barely bordering the peril of a Black Hole.

White noise

(an odalisque was waiting)

was it day

or was it night?

Night.

The sky was white and I was definitely leaving.

Soon a salesman, "Kinger", came to notice.

Bills on his hands, one hand was slightly crooked.

The stories he exposed, of Vietnam, were all fake.

He left, warm and with twice as bills on his hands,

he had the same amount nevertheless.

The following scene was core to this all.

I saw a figure I believe I have known forever.

"en turquoise, je me rends."

yes.

It was you again and never.

Suspiciously tall.

At the corner you were heading:

Elaine's Bar.

You were looking at the t.v,

on a bench and had already ordered,

the salesman, "Kinger", was there.

Eating ravishingly.

I don't know if I was noticed.

I don't recall much else.

I do remember some plastic, cheap pens,

on someone's hands

Was it yours'?

Was it the salesman's?

Again, was it day?

was it night?

Lunar Jump Fantastic

What have you find that

is making heads turn around

with the flow, with spirit

What is it

that (at the crack

of dawn) finds itself in many rivers

aroused and white

and simple

How many magpies have

blown their whistle how

many soldiers have

surrendered their weapons

It makes me think some-

-thing is different in the language of the field

in front of hungry eyes.

I said, I see you and

I can not reach you

not at the elbow

not at the drop of a hat

not at the end of the day where I find myself

embedded

to air

and having white thoughts

conveyed

down or up

to whatever phase of the moon you are being taken to.