dusk meet thorns

[quaileyedsnowfish]

as i meet myself at purefied
darkness
i get my lushes heart
with the prise digging for forcast feelings
of a sacrefise blaming rumours
from out the rain
to the concrete nightmare
but my robes are on fire
like wild heat stepped ot something
cold as ivory
therfore i'm talking about the word
that has a voice of soliticed flesh
secretly unknow to itself
and compassion becomes an attention
to itself
bothered by temptation vices
and i greet the lord with a troubled tongue
in a addictions blazing truth
i fight the battle
of new satelight jurning
for a step down argum manice
voices are the story
of my kind fall
into nothing pointing to the
stars
for sutch a beleeve that i have
like butterfly's of kissing rivers
and signing to prince of tide's
carres the future with your winebowed
secret wavering wisdom
and justified by the eclips of thunder
the coats of sadness
and on my little boat i cry
of becoming fastly written
by the wounds of deciet
of anouther mans revivel
of a seperated thought of the mind
that has a celebrated bruteness
and is like dirty sandletraps in the mind
i come her to forget
the winter into spring
that fades into the song
i sing to my brothers
on the outer side of the malconic bridge
fast as lighning i strike
the strive of completness
serprising as no crime
beats in my heart
like roses falling into grayold grimmage
of the pain,sliding into the concrete desserts
falling into place
the milkyway turnebout connection
into a strong haythorn of sadness it's vagabond
with a lawer of blister strive
from there i fall aside
and hit and run
to the
goodness stranded into the oneway incitement
as clueless ideas you run
but burn this place
with anwurs as crickets in the weaving way's
of dusk meets thorns

[quaileyedsnowfish]

blue as hallow green
the name is a cause of nature
in a book bending over the knoledge
from secret kiss to shout of priveledge
i whant you like sandlestraps in summer
but the mirrow accuses the face
for beeing the old me
with a new mind
to distract the new change
i follow the muddy window
as it stares in my eyes
like a capricorn
as challence making up the past
i desire the cave
in witch my words are wounded
you stranded on seaweed
from a moon in killing phrase
the abducted storys fly
to the grave of nomans land
and sleep at the corner of my hand
i shake the earth with a hammer as a pencil
a needle as the dawn
when you speak the world it travels
in a dark word trickling down elderly
like a faded crooked grip
a fiddle of sound in word
and if i mension
who i'm
you woud sound
confused
with a fastfood disire
and the night in you pocket
and a kiss on the world above
like a window anwurs the clash of time
i'm programmed to last
like a silver cloud in my glass of champane
a duel as one claw of wicket books
hiding in a song that you see
when your close your eyes
of the mirrow that came before
as a king of standby wisdom
my secret is the angle in these climbing spices
that suddenly gloom in your eye

[quaileyedsnowfish]

i dance on the earth
of a listener
with a mind full of oneness that rimes on my frozen grace
from the leafs that mensioned the cats
"wishboned nature"
i mean its a game for us to display how somethings feels
as i wonder and follow the tides of the dark
ok i beleeve in nothing like i i'm
becoming on big like
saturn ring from sheeps of sadness
like it's a new worlds oblivion
waking up in the corner of your eye
is it me or you
wicketness delay's my futher
expression
in witch i lay these dawns
like a helicopter to the moon
lik a dancing hallway
priveliged like a vision of the outside
memorized connection
that we can falsly accuse the silent enrapture
as one moment from the heart
like aking boiled superstition
we al cry faces of dark
but in time we will deprave in sanety
from the justice we absolve
like timeless privelations
we should celebrate this brake of dawn
now its the word of a prisoner
where calmness is a shroud
a spinn-off of bleu hazel
and a broadness as wine
chuckels like the past from a somthing to matter
that was only written on paper
gifts of love
in a glowing sun
sunken in the moon
the crawl of innocence
in the wisdom on a mountain of free
caracters of broken light from an attick
dwelling from cracked lighning
i have seen
the broken start
in the north from a sattelite of prose
ironing on your further explenations
the gimmick of languish
is strange
but i never lied on a bending over cave
into nothing it beats like hunger
the truth is like a hole
of vageness
or a shuffle of the past
or a limp of a wheel of fortune
or a letterbin by the edges
of silence
its not always sunny
like the moon that writes with crayon
but i come running in a happy wisness
is that the only thing left
on my solid heart

[Geoffrey]

ok that's enough