XXXIII: Flow

July 30, 2010
prototype a paragraph divided by my seperate halves.
we fly open shadow heads. "too pretty. take your meds."
outside there's a photograph of you when i could make you laugh.
we forget how good it felt to sit out while our faces melt.

purple robes of peonies reveal dark, enigmatic themes.
open up your closet doors to face that long forgotten shore.
freefalling, a bit obscene, is drowning out whole species' dreams.
Rapture in its purest form is a gray old used up whore.

Out of time we realize that you nor I were either right.
not long ago we made our plans to leave from home, sleep nights in sand.
we tend to think that we're alike, out our brains on satillites.
stalagmites arise again out of the ground and through my hands.

time machines are commonplace in this age of outer space;
all you need is a true splice of irony and loaded dice.
reaware of what we've seen, we try to execute our dreams.
futily we suck at where there used to flow nurturing air.
we tore it down to utilize and now we've come to realize
now we've come to realize

needless to say, i feel your pain. if you want we'll start again.





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