214.
Extraction from the sun by a flower
It would take four awakenings
I like my horses riding backwards while still projectiling
A dead beaver washed ashore from where I play my horn and the vultures swoon it was too true a rhyme to be contrived
A syndrome undeveloped a source for a medium we obtain knowledge and information for that purpose and others pollen others damming what do we actually give to the planet of the unknown creator of that which is of a cause of time before but then I dissect the word be fore fore be but I’ll go forward I’ll grow and stick to a covenant of my own written on my heart be.stow stow away this is the last call of summer true in the fall and winter my song will match that season I love the possibility of a new earth where people put aside their ego’s for a greater good but I mourn while I am here and any reason for prayer is soft under the illusion of seperation a denial of a holy proposal I want to be connected/corrected yet have the ability to eventually manifest something pure out of myself these choices I have made describe how one prescribes yet does not take their own advice off the wine everything could be untrue and nonsense hah yeah right they notice the pulse and gravitate towards foregoing language through a means straight to the sense/scene/shade if it be’s that kind of day where the constellations planned a random ventriloquist festival some leave and go on back to that captive mask/math but some carry it on till the whole has their water down to enough rations to say we’re all fucked from here on out might as well… maybe I spend so much conscious time in the, of the, on the illusion that even my dreams are full of their type of realities that distraction that inability to be a unconscious bird with a new song every day eating insects four days a week
What was gave to me
Ended up taking a lot out of me
In a good way
Empty yourself out and make way for the next tide
Arriving at any time
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