the season is changing

Green prospects beyond simplicity,

a room in the heart with a view

the alternative arrangement
becomes a rough remedy,

don't fly around in circles
keep your feet on solid earth,

the universe is in the little things,

it will grow in time. 

Expanding to a grain of sand.
(another birth)

the martyr stabbed the prophet in his back

Standing on the shoulders of drunken giants

with terrible drug problems, all in the mix

the little people were strolling slowly behind

the orange pages in a eloquent purple rage,

the echo will blind you monday morning

while whispering the name of a fruitcake.

an imitation of the king

Selling the little girls and boys

a pharmaceutical engine to copy greed.

The vampire developed a blue pill
to stay happy after murder.
The corporate man designed
a stock market
burn out.


The sword inside the water crystals.

Child of the Sun

Being there

in the middle of heaven and hell

the nature of timeless reflection,

not my body,

not my thoughts,

not my feelings,

just a mirror machine gazing in the light.

An unbelievable big bang
of ever growing Love.

A simple twist of faith keeps on expending.

Reality without a borderline.

One.

Now and in the hour of our dead

We’ve got plenty of time to wonder,

she nearly lost her mind,

longing for more

of the same brand controlled certainties.
The old days are screaming
to the fast lane,
modernism’s and pale blue productivity,
the vampire too anxious to be poor,
the fruits are whispering.
In the dark ground
the seeds are pounding to the walls,
the sun is overwhelming
inside the chilly winds of the east.

The silence is complete

The big wheels are going

around and around.

Approachable doors of reflection

Fly a while around the circles

of the Heart.

The screams of agony

Angelic raving a million eyes multiply

humming through the minds
of the monster,
electric tentacles
caressing the skeletons of hate.

These trembling hearts are faithful,
appearing in the new morning
with purple mouths and butterfly breath
around the blazing Sun.

The Images of the illusionary One
are delicate,
a solid construction,
infinite flowers in the dark.

The noise of war is stumbling blind
through the screams of agony,
the mirror felt in a thousand pieces,
before his apathetic drowning feet,
he was staring at the back of the page,
the blood was slowly pouring out
in mystical conclusions.

Fragments of desire
swallowing the branches of the tree,
the leaves are falling faithfully
towards the open ground.


Always here, All ways now.