A sheer forest of limelight
And still water beneath
The rhythm of your blinking,
Of slowing down patterns
Of possessions, no things
But imaginary rathers and pools
That do not exist, what is
That hand in the matter
And what about revolutions
Of scattered diasasters?
Everyday I look for a way to see you again,
Mine is the simplest problem to understand. And yet
I cannot look, for too long, it gives away everything, embedding
A sadness because you will not hear
Because I will not speak, I don't know how,
And still water beneath
The rhythm of your blinking,
Of slowing down patterns
Of possessions, no things
But imaginary rathers and pools
That do not exist, what is
That hand in the matter
And what about revolutions
Of scattered diasasters?
Everyday I look for a way to see you again,
Mine is the simplest problem to understand. And yet
I cannot look, for too long, it gives away everything, embedding
A sadness because you will not hear
Because I will not speak, I don't know how,
I've never even asked, the cause? In fear?
Yes, yes, yes, of the pain, the same stammer,
No, its just that I haven't and that technology
Of engagement upon which the worlds pairs off
and then makes its way? That's not me, but I do believe
these things exist inside my body
which reduce me to Winter's ash,
that which is left after the cold burning.
It's my escape, the forest green, the
Phthalo viridian with a hint of
pain's grey,
Illuminated from beneath by sun
light through the winter window, for we are
both at that
Age,
the one I wear also, being one
In the psalm skin melody head playing
I hear
when my eyes drift across your face.
the one I wear also, being one
In the psalm skin melody head playing
I hear
when my eyes drift across your face.
Its the one where I arrived last after
Every verse with an already broken heart.
A troubled, fetid heart,
preserved in salt.
You have that taste of blood upon you, I'm sure of it.
A troubled, fetid heart,
preserved in salt.
You have that taste of blood upon you, I'm sure of it.