2.19.2011

no work is ever complete

like a speed so brutally swift that to comprehend it's trajectory would mean to be bolted alongside it
in a cascade of colors so intense your mind refuses acceptance siphoned through the actuality of remote sensuality.
whisked away from material knowns into the depths of time and space so deranged psychotic residents couldn't dream it
even through explosive foresight deep in caverns of sweet shadowed sunlight the manifestation of comets of inspiration waxes and wanes.
one and one you sense the recollected recollection of coursing sliding turning bursting shining blinding masking through
into the tourniquet of comprehensive, temperamental thorns composed of melted liquid cosmic beams of falser truth
reduced into evaporated signals ticking through retired mechanimisms of the deepest desires of your motorization
barely conceivable to microscopic organisms; intentionally silent and briskly approaching the apex
of a beat composed of anger roaring through the sirens centered registering into something conscious consciousness faded to
a beast conceived maniacally unleashed within a pulsing flame which gained stabilization through variation of game
in a torrent of plasmology exponentially reigning down from heaven's open palms into the arms of benefactors
the make-believe achieve a masterminding scheme to resurrect the motions laughing in the box behind the curtain of the scene

breathe
time to forget how to read

touch not these words
these worlds are filtering

look not to these words
the spoils of
intrinsic thought

two electronic signals perfectly spliced through the dark side of Eden where the self stages fights
inner sight; 98% cascading brilliance bouncing brainwaves into nothing as they fall to oblivion's reach
producing a visage of emulated perfection based on the content of current static velocity through the medium.
faded below the deepest sorrows of the soul which cried itself into existence from the depths of coalescing twilight
to the sound of a drum that steadily drones on to the beat of a song incomprehensible from a state of three-dimensionality.
a higher order places a forced checkmate over past experience etching causality into actuality
in turn a mountain crumbles at the soft touch of wind, revealing yet another prime directive to be taken in
through the lonely spire of loss that drips from the jowls to the ground in the form of liquid micro-organismic playgrounds


breathe
time to forget how to read

touch not these words
these worlds are filtering

look not to these words
the spoils of
intrinsic thought