…and so to hear the writing of the music of dreams. not just a few seconds snatched at the mercy of terror but filmscripts, plays, realistical images, imagined away.
The crowded, pallid buildings reflecting a dazing sun. The rule of confusions muffled under stifling heat, a code only shared with those of knowledge. […]
blue will ever be blue. following you, leaf to frond to trunk to root. Dunked in precious soil and a soul sheen, those minutes of halflight will never appear the same.
trace a circle with a finger around and about, turning to a figure of eight and swirling whorl, wisping whispered mists woven […]
on a quiet and still day your words entice, dripping through skindrift spun in that reflected sheen of millponds. Bathed in daisy-fresh mirrored pools, a scene stitched with the quilting of angel hair to watch over while the world sleeps.
[don’t look now. almost there. almost as if to fall ungraciously in and never […]
Never have known anything quite the same. Never shall, never will. Twisting capillary alleyways, major arterial roads, leading to the city heartbeat blanketting vast gaps in space, in people. Whichever and whenever and however, whatever. Now is the colour - blue is the time.
[i can’t wait. but i shall. […]
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