LUI

writings
2008-11-16 04:29:51 (UTC)

wind

this taste is an electric blue
the phase is shocked white in the opal park
where the lark is singing of the child days.
overheard, i caught "kiss me beautiful" under book ends, on
steady saw grass,
in 1963.

we were running on only revolutions,
by the psychedelic reel of hyperbole.
alarms siren on in the mid night fire,
crackling as a youth to bring the system down.

the sun shown bright across the distant paths
crashing sharply inward through the dark nebula
space and time, with all their friends
sunk abrupt through voids of tyrants





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