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Exit Vase / Ocean Lithograph

one thousand shapes move and shift lingering in the starlit canopy hanging deeply writ

threaded with spider's silky thread like linen like children like visions victoriously forbidden

to being hidden to being driven to the edge of the precipice and hand holding above it

for the wind riddled for the desert sand sinking deeper in the hour bent end over end for

deaths wicked tongue lavish at the proem and better yet to talk better yet the sand grain

drops and falls again falling to the side of the pyramid and fallen it hits clicking on each

step chattering away again at the teeth clench for beauties unspoken vow read wearing

the best of suits in black call it then a date in neverland and im not coming down for none

realities most hideous guest better yet the dream of man lifted hand reaching toward the

setting sun just arisen chasing death with open arms open mouth kissing realities slipping

dream dream to be asleep and in some dawn's saturated sky with some eyes that kiss of

death that blind man tapping away again trying to stand i swear when i saw her at the store

when i was working the register way back when when they wouldnt let me do anything less

than babble away at the customs watching me drowning at the small talk the speech of a

dead man's last guilty stalk and sow reap and in reaping so believe to be and in believing

lift thyself from the grave to walk with pride to walk with God to walk with mind focused on

one single thought holding conversation in dimensions starred never be ashamed of that

scar that's what he told me at the bar when he shook my arm boy am I weak boy has it been

a goddamn revelry in reverie for floundering like a dead fish for fries to find deeply wrought

fields of golden grain growing from remembered lives former striving to be and in being

settled on it a million and one times and i still wouldnt believe the words speaking within me

fraid nought could, and although spoken like truth, none more feared a phrase speaking

from experience I better not say speaking from years upon the page in dripping ink for hand

prints made crawling in the tunnels of Set and smashed the glass of the hour fold it up neatly

tucked twist the top of the compass of two trails there are two trails and one pathwey is what

the frost family lives by to die the spinning arm linked dancing with the ole' bride ceremonial

testimony of the naked son walking in the yard with secrets bleeding from stab wounds kiss

ill always remember where i was once and where i was going then and what it was it was and

if its happening its happening and ill give it my darned best shot where was i finger stretched

touching the arm of the genie's lamp that just happened to be a trigger pulled somehow to

fall through and through beneath the secret entrance to the cave of theives ancient sounded

not too long ago from the smell of the dusty clouds kicked up and the trombones skeleton

still smiling like the face of every man when they lose their skin after they lose their head by

crooked bladed swords sharpened edge walking along the precipice hand in hand with thee

how could it be tell me the secret singing reveal to me the where the trick catches and how

the candalabras did alight each flame candied upon the wick of the white candles drip and

burn sunlight in an urn at the centre of the darknesses twist and circled madness a thousand

and one times from left to right from right to left from down and out and dig from prophetic

to pathetic to possibly the world's insane who's better brain to explain to me help me to see

and when the sun shines from the urn it seems to be cracking up at all the wrong times and

where is it we shall find the place for you and i and when is it we see the light of history pass

by like walking in circles a thousand and one times round the light lifting from the urn in the

centre of the blackest abyss whipping round hideous complexities speaking sutras sentences

while half asleep I swear I knew about a hundred lines plus question and answered everyone

right what's left to be what mind it is that is free who's talking and what is it they speak and

why is there just not enough for everybody and i wouldn't know and i couldn't say and i don't

want to leave but there's somebody waiting someone on the other side of death standing in

the wind swept fields of golden grain beneath the rising sun framing the moonlit face with

widow's tears for spiders legs dance the dance of the ages the dance of the dance of all the

ages we've been waiting we've always known it to be something and what more could it ever

ever be and ever since the first thought ever caught the first aligning synchronicity ever since

God found me to believe and I found God believing to be just is what it is and when it is it

just makes cents to the dollar collected enough for a burger maybe gold nuggets from the

mine shaft encased glittery glowing glass breaks the vase in the centre place as pieces rise

circling the mass of lightnesses end deavouring madness all encompassing barely lifted the

lid barely saw the arms swinging for some unknown master work lost magnetic north deep

in the woody frost too many trees to count the leaves so many leaves the silence shakes

magnificent coloured lays upon the stone with lungs breathing fire from aires so desiring to

be and just one single breathe when was it that last time when was it so light how do the

broken pieces swirling for the hell of it all become some mask on the other side standing

to face one thyself to be immaculately confiscated the shadow to play with for ever since

the loneliness collapsed and who's imaginary friend had pets and three and two and one

to step into the light created from the nothingness within death's urn longing for a dramatic

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