Travelling boatswain completely at liberty, clothed in pins and reaching out for things. Im in detailed eroticism, the feeling I lost before. Fleas and lizards crawl out, babies and chickens glisten, a warble is heard and the wind grows afeard. Next thing I hear back before the storm beckons: Let me in on a thin string and cover me with kisses. Sounding like ecstasy, seeming like anything ~ the inner zone is wanton and poor subject for true release this side of Eden. And on top of all that, a carnage camera that shuts its gate like a dungeon floor, broken back to bare essence and pleading its position . . . Not real enough, not at all sensual. Come, let me brave and feel through and brave you know what, so as to allow my blood to trot, and new eagerness to be bought at the price of letting me go. Im on a trample to the stars, bless me as you go. My pockets are holy and all the rest is flesh. (By pockets I mean vessels for all I should pray to have, on a journey where the right things count.) I cant hide my disappointment! Ive filled in my heads shovels of incitement and clemency from reason, seeking to live in liquid again, where the threads I step weave me round a map ~ with threads of the finest gold in the only form that matters: uncatchable miners to the stars. The next step is less tortuous and happens as a matter of course. Words take their place one after the other and simple arithmetic suffice to show a throw of dice where sand dunes clatter, and eagles dare, and nothing was delivered. As time slowly turns around the clock of light backfires the symphony gathers momentum. Everything is broken but what am I looking for? I fit the jigsaw and drink some more limelight in my little dreamy hollow. Then comes the oblivious feeling, a blissful belief in being. Words speak for themselves. Dyou expect something more? The way the breaths lead on and paths keep beating ~ days blend into each another and still I keep fishing . . . Dont know what I will end up eating! |
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