…it seems like —

  Was I dreaming? I’m in bed the peaking light sliced with a letter cutter of a curtain the world outside is new I am old I have my years I carry them in suitcases in tables as I sip tea and coffee using my utensils of hand and fork to eat I can’t remember

…in a bundle —

it was weakening to expire frailty denies to inhale still the atomic poison slapped on air washing itself upon my fountain of youth as predators do prey in one gasping height of tyranny oh, I wish I wish oh — I wish I wish I can be absurd too upon a scale of my own

…I know it’s hard to resist —

  these callouses made me me I am turned out like a weathered shoe clanking, irritating others yet comfortable to me it’s like extra gravity holding me a pinch of eccentricity and it’s like cloud shaped like praying hands and an island suspended in motion and two gleams of sun pointed out like a moonbeam

I wonder…

  maybe if I could float like flowers and thistle and run on like cacti without piercing the air too hard too fast choking it in cataclysm if I did write that note if I did would I have seem like the better person? maybe so maybe not hard luck being a cactus on a

I have this…

…rounding on in my head as they once said gladness turned to madness or can it spin the other way around? I am walking in a forest of decapitation I can’t understand the rolling heads something tells me its not the night I have grasped fists of hair made a paradise out of levity now

craziness…

could I say I was crazy? Yeah I could — I can think of many ways I am crazy but lets not get too much into eccentric me 😛 well I did a lot of crazy things when I was a young teen. Imagine wearing  a mic-headseat and trying to dub the dialogues (so-called dub

grass is missing

can I cry you a lullaby? I’m screaming out with a bruised voice clamouring on tongue twister melody can I cry you a lullaby? to make it saner to fall asleep I have dreams I have hopes yet I mope yet I tear at my hair and feel like dissembling myself you know…it and I

flipping —

the rawness is strictly coated as a melodic opportune moment combustible belonging and so is the unripe and the unjostled heading to the extremes and the hybridities of the long-short world of experiences I was hoping that upon the world that I floated on and the world that had a inspiration to float into the moments:breathing:ticking:brushing:typing:yawning:running:stiing:walking were

subtlety —

can be brutal-magnanimous like a teacher to the infant preciously coddling on the illiteracy of the literacy and like shadows and light fight and talk and coexist as neighbourhood lanes winding on a pathologically-ordinary pathways to the butcher shop to the pastry shop, and the linen store, tongs and bookshops and greeneries galore the weight of the anchor on