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Dragon Cuffa

cup'o'coffee in the morning, three stones at each end over end, back to the begrinning

the sigil of a friend, was it, the second of the first or the first of the second, ever-present

questions, and like i said, all in on smiling faces, makes me happenstance, make me amen

better yet, promises written in afterthought, waking up to a dream seeping in through the

seams of a dream-like insect infested reality, the pieces rearrange, what is a game, what is

the two seperete hands clap, in time with in tune with in spring with in step with a dances

remembrances of a bitter last, first within the paradigm, somewhere in the middle, opening

in the morning time to a dream, and what a reality we made through conversation, knot a

word, ever again twisting through sleep like sleep through twisted coiling again, ever a

tortorous revelry, dripping from the tongue of sleep, death and me, wherefore art thou is to

be, and when it hits, one hand empty, without the fullness of a life it seems, that o, so many

in the eyes behind the mind, so satisfied, so self-reliant k, I can hardly look behind the curtain

these days, but yet still so, enthusiastically addicted to this, ever-pervasive confessional, dash

dash, dot dot dot, profuse lit sparkling fire dwindlin' just waiting for the big bang to explode

at each cornered end, at every point again, a stone, and at every complex sentence a gate

and for whom it is whom waits, and when we get there what shall be then, is there a we, my

friends? dead laugh stock footage, if i could only remember the other title before i started

writing and like a leaf drifts by down the stream a leaf falls from the tree like rainfalls to fill

oceans of endeavour, like dewdrops fall from the stem back to the floor of the temple slain

like blood of the knife blade, puddling, like sitting cross legged, like thinking thoughts about

thinking thoughts about thinking about thoughts thinking how, it was the other sigil, just the

one yesterday, it burnt up in a pair of gloved hands to the minute, ax-laid plans to the best

of men, I still couldn't, nor could I, and what better words to speak than join the party, I'll

think of them someday, some, poetry, some better words to rhyme with free, some observe

some partake, some parlay, some verb, some noun, some ever-prevelant goodness of what

creation takes time and space collapses into dust reprise, crushed the flower inside the palm

frond white, crystal smitten, two steps over the ledge and one forbidden thumbprint, petals

fall and mix with ashes to ashes and yet still it remains, pressed, between the first circle and

the last page, my friend's insane, he doesn't like to be called names, who's to know anything

couldnt read it with a toothpick, black blood covered, all things melt in tune with who's woe

all things moving throw revolt, all things revolting crawl toward eyelids opening, to a dream

what dreams, to a reality, what things, all things moving arise, all things arising fall away, all

things disappearing appear againe, all tricks revealing treatises on promulgated begging

knees, words can barely speak from liquid tongues devotion, words hardly known then, and

words escaping rearranging captivating it is to see, further deadening the need, for whom

and what for, to look in eyes and see, one is one seferated, so far out in other, shadows do I

uncover within me, hateful ideology, more of a non-comm ital judgement of appearances

so far from relation, there are few a niggers hanging, I just wanted to say it so I did, take it

for what you will, noose filled, round my neck, stray far from my tree, my rope silk, my laugh

distilled, and when I find that damn tree again, I'll climb it to the heavens, and never come

down, not for no one, not for you, or them, not for friendships lovely tugging at the pantleg

SIR, you haven't set it on fire yet, the spiraling thoughts of a madman, digging a grave to

find roots of trees deep seeded regret, who's honest anyway, who's eyes bleed, who's mind

weeps, who's flower torn, under who's wing, who's reality, who's dream, who's who in the

owl's nest, some tree, some life, some blasphemy, what do you want from me, to think, and

what to think then, thoughts, and thoughts about what then, thinking again, and then what

wherefore art twee to find, some hidden gold inside, minor piece, dimes dropping, the only

time honestly, when I use change, is when I buy fast food for some reason, attitude, is a great

game, things connecting up in flames, things always remain the same, alignment of futures

past, I made it that way for a reason, I just don't know the reason yet, I'm just being playful

tied hands, tired mind, further pasts further breaks in meditation barely thoughts could word

the phrase, when do we start the great treatise and where does it take place, the way the ink

flows from the dipping pens chiseled nib, the way it shimmers, I miss the candle flame, but

as it gets darker and harder to see, the more enraged the hand writing, bleeding through

and through, spit shined table top, saving every off hand, shoot, I wouldn't know which way

to turn, lost deep in the glade, tunneling introspective blasphemy, it's easy to say, I just don't

like the look in his eyes, that's all I can say, needs more pain, who am i to say, don't know any

body, don't want to know, don't, truth, walking distances in forest lay just to be lost again to

be anywhere the mind can wander then, just to be lost again, is that what it's like to be free

the slave in the desert sand, hands tied tight with chains dragging the dead body like bones

in a grave dreaming of dreams, nowhere to go, circling the desert spiral, setting fire round

the frame, jumping through hoop earrings for a name in new orleans, bask with me in deaths

embrace, we shant, and yet shall we, o we shall, laughing at what then, nothing, you, yeah

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