flower's

with the wind of which you are tired

with the old music box heart

with the penalty of heaven of which you are tired, 

with hunger, with thirst.

insanity has blind children...

with the womb, when you are tired

with the sea that makes the train to your wedding days

with the lightning shakes, the snow-covered patio, 

with blades, with fishing nets

madness preserves, sediments.

with poorly knotted tie, the yellowed neck 

of flax of which you’re tired

with the stolen cotton flowers _ the blues whispers...

with megaphone on the open end of the days oh which you're tired

with the successful repetition of - the anything 

lighting - to the usual surf.

madness filters

the madness will imbues the slots of your gaze

with a flower liquor, with a french perfume ...

*

times are the times are

they were left time and time. lightning children-fish in the pews

rain in silence

temples will be erected forever, eternity’s temple...

wadding foundations. that everything is going

that that's the way, it is how, not gonna save you from

the silver fork

stealing is easier

that composing heroic verses, says snake. _ 

i agree_ i agree with the theft to

the moon rays, too

steal verses where you can, so. and the bread 

for the ducks in the park, you. the husks for swine.

but before you go, wear the masks and show me your eyes.

let me see if i was right to trust not

the tether.