The sudden burst of light, with the flowering of grain into cactus in hand, and the showering of sunlight into bower on land, I see thy face imprinted as mine on the bough of tree with wind fleetingly holding thy smile upright like the flowers are held in variety by garden I am a bouquet that emboldens the spring for another yawning I am held on to you as gravity holds the harpoon as Eve was held on to Adam in tandem with apples laden with the reams of knowledge, I am pressed upon thy shadow like the seed immersed in the earth sprouts again to fruition while the candle is blown in the wind of heaven and everything is calmed down to wearing a grin and passions light on!
Of the golden flute, I sing I sing the song of nonchalance noise in the making of a Satan, then die out as the satan dies hard out of nowhere, there is fish and water, let's catch up the fish and rest in silence
of the haul by the soul the howl by the body and hole by the mind comes the shoal in the net of life let's eat up what we have got out there the fish and rest in silence
Does the wave return to where it began? Does it vanish without any trace and elan? it is the end of the ocean where waves vanish and the journey of the man begins back to waters and famish this is the chaplain who will carry the ship on his bent shoulders, as if the government resides in the middle of oceans on ocean-liners, there is the flame on the mast burning bright yielding to sunlight it's famed tongue's flicker on the edge of the wicker light in the end love comes to the fore and defends the seas for the many shoals have perished underneath into a flimsy light of luck and lustre there's the end of the world where heavens begin and the end of heavens where the love begins
on the sheaves of waves, translucent in the sunlight, reflecting the light falling from the sun into bright spots Eddie, sitting in the largess of the company with solitude recalls a face after face till the death seems to toil hard to keep him guessing the names of those dead men who succored by liquor now do epiphany in his mind, till he cherished the white wine himself and urged to live hard on it.
In a coffin, wallowing for the night, I am fully awake in the blinding dark inside, to lie with pride and peep out of a hole. no skies to stare at but the whole of life Me thought you too climb in and rest for a while, for the coffin has enough space and time and made of diamonds and for jack of all trades there's nothing in the offing but our fate
whole night will elope away with the moon and there will be nothing but daylight when we slouch out of the coffin and feel the day's plight isn't it worth a while to forever lie in the coffin and bid goodnight?
reading a palm makes for a curious turn to spell out what's naked in glen what she has got in store for the swirling spring? or has in the alleys waiting a day out in winter? or the good barn of deciduous autumn in nature's urn? or a summer's boat on the river for a maven to tell which way the cold wind blows; is the job of a Palmist