LIKE SECONDS, SOME LONGER THAN OTHERS
THE SOUNDS DIVIDE TIMES IN CITIES
AND PEOPLE PREPPED IN LAYERS AS
WOLFS IN CARPETS OF FRINGES,
TIME THEIR RUN INTO CHURCHES
SOMETHING THAT COMES WITH AGE, AS BUTTER
MELT THEIR THOUGHTS WHEN THEY ARE YOUNG
LIKE THEATRES BUILDING THEIR WORLDS ON BOOKS
AND TOURISTS OF THEIR OWN YOUTH
I REMEMBER
WHEN HEARTS WERE FLOATING IN BUFFETS
AND POWER WAS SOMETHING YOU FORGOT
BEFORE THE CHECK CAME
NOW, THE WORLD IS RUN BY LIZARDS
COUGHING UP TIME FROM TALES ON VERSES
THE SAME IN ANOTHER SETTING
LIKE CRYING WALLS WAITING FOR THE OTHERS TO STOP
IT SEEMS THEY CHANGE THE DIRECTION ON ME
AND SUDDENLY I’M WALKING BACKWARDS
WITH MY EYES ON MY ASS AND NOT ON THE ROAD
AROUND, THE SUN IS GREY IN GREY
NOTHINGS CHANGED BUT THE WORDS
TIME IS WEDNESDAY
THE TONGUES ARE TUESDAY
COLLIDING RESTRUCTURED LANDSCAPES
RUNNING WITH THE ARROWS
BULLETS FROM BEHIND
TUNING ON TO COUNTRIES
TARGETING PAVEMENTS BUILT ON IDEALS IN CHANGE OF IDEAS
I PADDLE BETWEEN CONSTRUCTED TRUTHS AND PLASTIC
THEY, LAYER THE SOUNDS OF ARRANGED EMPTINESS
PUT THERE TO WALK THE DOG WITH THE HORSE
HUMMING MAN EATER IN THE TOILET
THE LANDS SEEM TO CHANGE IN CLOSED EYES
LIKE FLASH IN SUNLIGHT
GLORY WHAT’S ON THE OUTSIDE
QUESTIONING THE INSIDE
I’M CYCLING THROUGH THE TREES
WHERE THE DEGREES RECEDE
THEY LOOK THE SAME, LIKE HOUSES
IN ANOTHER SETTING
EMBRACING SLEEP, EXISTING WITHOUT NIGHT
A TONE IN TUNE WITH THIS TIME JUST ABOUT BREATHES
THE FORCE OF THOUGHT
COMFORT CREATURES
VOTING WITH THEIR FEET AND WALK AWAY
THEIR SOUNDS ARE CROOKED TACTS
SLOW AND THE WORLDS ON LOAN
YOUR HANDS ARE SUDDEN AND OUT OF SIGHT
THEY PILE UP, THE LANDSCAPES OF DISHES
BEAUTIFUL AS PATTERNS ON LACES
THEY REVEAL THE MEANING FROM BRANCHES
IN TREES OF TRAVELS, MORSING THE NUMBERS OF TIME
INTO LINES OF DOTS WHILE CLIMPING THROUGH VAINES
AND SHARP COLD GLITTER, AS THEY CARVE THEIR LANGUAGE
OF CONTROLLED DEMOLITION WITH A KNIFE
AND ICE THE HEARTS FOR FUTURE REFERENCE
IMPENETRABLE BEATS BREAK THE CORE OF HIS SURFACE
DRIPPING FROM WORDS SLIPPING AS THEY PLUG THEIR THOUGHTS
COLD ENOUGH TO SEE MY BREATH AND CRAWL DOWNSTAIRS
LEAVING A MARK ON THE FLOOR.
YOU SLEEP BETWEEN THE LINES, IN FABOLOUS STAINS
OF BROKEN NAILPOLISH. I CATCH THE DREAMS
THEY THROW FOR SCRAPS LIKE ORGANIZED POLES
OF PLASTIC REALITY ALWAYS PRESENT WITHOUT LISTENING.
HALF AWAKE, PRESING ONE EAR TO THE SPEAKER
DRIPPING FAKE EMPIRES ON TO SURFACES