life has amplified all senses. laughter's hitting harder the cries
more pensive dreams
vaguer desires stronger
and at its eye, there have been
1. thoughts
2. nightmares
and 3. soft clam shells. It will always fall short.
the fear of dreams.
like it hit rock bottom,the
eye.
noises no longer fade into the distance. no muffled attempts at this turn.
"turn the rod, the way it will", or, the way ...
it's never desire that lets down. it's the blood in its veins that betray the dog
wagging its tail to every bone under the ground. nourishing a bone then
can't be a priority.
tell it now. horns, dancing shoes and crap et.al.
begetting dreams is an onus that i deny. ears, eyes, tongue, skin and blood.
i deny it the priority that can make a scratch on the wall
'coz i believe that it will be white-washed soon. i believe it more than my pregnant soul.
there was an artist who painted walls from the west
and one who scratched his skin every morning to whisper into it, "you're alive now"
and one who dug a grave spitting lies to her feet
and one who wouldn't dream 'coz she was afraid to wake up
brittle wisdoms of soul-seeker bees douse in flames tonight
no less a dream it is, thinks the dead star, a few trinitised galaxies apart.
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