Throw me new thoughts, the greatest spurt of entertainment is in the fear of the abrupt unknown, and the talking cemeteries, and also religious frowns.
Everything is silhouetted on green curtains, telephone wires are swinging hand in hand, farms deepen the green darting thru the holes, and the heroes wash the coral photographs zeroing, zooming inward inward the innermost notoriety behind blunt, scattered oceans in between storms of intensity, haunted by a grand sleep of spared hues, jailed by May in October, yesterday.
In the gloomy bricks of this passage, the train rocks from grave till the unending Argentine odds. Unto the entirety of a Zen dawn in these misty aeons, and caught between a billion mad desires, I play music. The radio heats Sinatra outward the open air, be kind don’t comfort yourself in your coffin, I loved the days, even when they were set in daze, perfumed by colorful mountains, shivering thru seventeen inched stabs on the land of Docs and laughter, the earth is an angel dishwashing cures in cities, and bums on bay. Troubles corroborate with nothing anyway.
Melting onto the cheaply clothed chair, still wobbly from years to pass and smoked in time, the sun sins and shines, near posts outside of cursed signs, the hardwired sage translate Bosnian to Asian Buddhists. What else do I see? Flowers? Vaguely. But I do see the vagrants exchanging guns and railway food and solving algebraic equations, with pens and papers.