Now we don't all seriously seek out religion or heroin, but we want a way of reaching the truth of what stained us before we were even walking, and the sky light, cutting through the broken planks of a playhouse wall. To reach the other side of a dream we are not reaching, can never reach, only touch to pull away, feel the sense of, turn and curl back upon ourselves in sleeping and waking.
It all turns to gold anyway, and in the midst of living, we are ageing, and love will always follow, whether crouching or standing tall. And I'll be a poet before the night is out. And you will be formless as soon as your fences fall down. I will come upon you, light your feeble brow, cradle you in a blue nothing, stars will falter along our tides and ships whinnying to the night. But you are a brave one, a strange song, limpet fantastic and bright.
We exist through days, no one ever thought it would be this way, and the aeroplane comes down as the clouds are rising, the mother turns with a smile on her face. A man crosses a road like lightning on frail buildings, and we have all lost the race, upset grace, we have all lost the race. Winning proved too easy, feet got tangled up in white laces and grass like on a summer's day, except it wasn't summer, my laces were tied, and I am in this empty field, and no longer young and running...and so... form is only emptiness, emptiness only form.. and we worship.. talk of degradation.. that sunshine.. a cold saturn.. winds allies.. they are weathered.. in such song.. we are hearing.. and looking.. looking.. come turn around.. blink again.. blink again.. the night is burning into ether.. two steps..one step.. and we're gone...
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