Poetry Archives Bio

Stream of Consciousification At—Then

July 18, 2002

Awake he is not up then comes the dawn and sets the light the reflected multitude of the veined hands of the semireflected masquerade of the repeated regression of repressed pain and fairness is aloof in the derelict amassed anulum of the eye's water flows the past and the round eagles fall does not equal to the new Zealander's demise in the sun's rays as the water falls on the lids of the beckon the dawn of the don to the max of the rack to the magical shadow that comes in my head all of a sudden like a good book continuously speaking to my back ache and the time to awakening is soon you peeked no peeking then ahoy well then is this not a desecration of a dream in a type of a soulmate oh my god said she as she saw the body the dead hold no sorrows many secrets opens the door to my mind of my head of my mind's water a dash of fear and a remembrance of hope as I raise my eyes to the right top over an iota and the sut sun sets sail and the sense is aset and asoot and astrafe in my setting setting setting of the mind's structure like a brush stroke of the apencil rather on some textured unflowing mass of paper paper is nice it is comforting very vary indeed at any rate arms ache hands ache back aches and the trip to the collectable of food's choice tomorrow does not fill me with my excitememnt either did classify old scraps of memory earlier on expect a revelation on an old theme but for now I bid you another endless morning. Farewell and hello.