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It Also Is A Setting

tell it to me againe, what does it mean, tell it to me my friend, where does it go


the time it takes to think thoughts had by others oft so to believe, wherefore thought


is creating time and space is ever unfolding within far from without, evermore the


distance around the circle drawn in chalk, dripped in blood, dropped the roses petals


plucked, like a feather does, just a hug, just another sand drops, call it what you want


call me by the number written in the dusk, hardly the stars could corrupt, pleasurable to


the senses but, the taste it lingers like the mind gets fingered for oft being a better man


better hands breed better plans for to be conclusive in the inspection of a dram, could


almost tell you what it is, could almost hold a light to the light shining through a prism


I have seen those spirals spiraling off into the realm where nothingness is oft confused


I have held the hand up to the light, I have seen the energetic mess love makes of life


I held the hand up to the light shining standing there on the balcony, head tilted at the


Meandering spirals leaving off the skin in colourfull twists and twirls, this is what we are


She laughed, then she left, before the context was grasped and after the epiphany trashed


And it is only a metaphor for coming undone, only just a string, tied up, invisible cuts


Death in more than a thousand words, versed languages, and they hardly do mean the same


Things for the brain, memories to the mindless, ever thinking thoughts that were in flames


Writing words inverse, speaking symbols, it is the first of another and the last of one more

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