form
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I wake in rooms you're dreaming in.I wonder what you seeinside the sleep you're gleaming inand underneath the sea,and deep in The Sahara,and in the pit of me. I speak in rooms you're silent in.
F O R M Y P E A C E O F M I N D A N D F O R M Y O W N S A N I T Y A N
D M Y S P I R I T B U T A L S O F O R M Y C A R E E R A N D M Y F U T U
R E A N D M Y F R I E N D S A N D M Y F A M I L Y I A M D O I N G O N E
This here, in my hands, is nothing more than an hour glass.
Time paves each grain of sand and marks the hours pass.
As each grain stumbles through a maze of consciousness,
It begins to identify itself with the others.
7 Days Later
I wore your clothes for the rest of the week,
even your baggy floral underwear.
I wore your bathrobe, hoping to be clean,
is it the sweetness of a falsified
mem’ry or truly sickly sweet charms?
have i imagined this air, calcified
in stone covered in velvet, moss harms
An artist’s mind is often swallowed by indigenous thoughts. Trying to balance ones conceptions on a fine thread.
(Read in triplets, so "Tri-pl-et, Tri-pl-et; Ti-be-li; In-to-the light-comes-the ...")
~ ~ ~
Chaos, disorder, and darkness, beyond
lies a great expanse of wilder and here
there is naught a trace of clearness or form
