Black machines to throat of man. Pyramid of one in ten, not for pharaohs, for men. Bodies ephemeralize when currency flows through skies. Due energy potential: sleeping mountains build tempo.

Angels enslaved? They only share a faith. Ambivalence or apathy, either yields to me. Great Gods think alike, they put earth in its place. Take and take. If you leave anything, it breaks.

I am you, take my place. From here it all looks the same. A sea of facsimile faces feigned, craving someone else's grace. Look into their eyes. They are opaque. The soul is raped. The sanctity is gone, take its place. Take a taller sky. Take a deeper ocean. We build a bridge to heaven on the back of our devotion. If you dream a dream beyond such things, you are to give them motion.

There is no need. Kill no dream. This is the holiest thing. Fire stole sea, it glassed valley, it burns me. Repeat and repress, there is no rest for cyclical things. Who is king?

Cut string, chain, break fourth wall of scene. God never spoke to human beings. He spoke to kings and free men who command man to feel. You don't feel. You feel nothing. You are already dead.

Wear your collar. I give you everything I said.

You are never weak again. Maybe some agent of the fed could simplify responsibilities, that for speech, that for footwork, that for reach - you might be able to fall asleep with the animals generals keep.

My effigy soul is carved without hand. I am left from sin or sanctitude, I absolve each into grand current and minutia of moment-to-moment momentum.

You see, I am not what I am.

Closed eyes overwhelm, better to leave them open synesthesia pulsing hell, God fell? From what? Growth obviates destruction, destruction obviates growth. Dogs broke oath biting throat - you never wanted to cope.

"I wanna die,

I wanna die -

When I do,

I wanna come back to life"

Let them die, let them die, let them now come back to life, I know you never meant to leave come back now to life or I'll forget you, I’ll forget your everythings and nothings, your sayings and little somethings - the expression you would forget on your face while daydreaming: I don't remember your face. You are leaving.

My stars won't stop turning. They won't stop burning. Something's going to fall to somewhere. Something's going to fall. As if the gaps were small enough for two things to meet - they don't meet. They see and reach out arms as they drift closer and closer, projecting trajectories only to keep going, and scream, and fall apart, scrambling for words needed to say before drifting into the dark.

Don't care. There's nothing to fix. Don't move, don't miss. Don't speak. Don't kiss. Don't look at me. Don't say my name. If you think you're original I'll fill you with shame because you're nothing, I'm nothing, there's nothing and everything's gone, universal entropy machine of apathy, everything was built to take from me.

Don't say anything. Just leave.

I will never breathe. I will never write what I want you to read. Thousand yard stare, smoke air. Dreams are for sleep. Love your self defeat. Something is taken from me. A wrongdoing, a great suffering. Soul melted into bowls before me, force fed to me, it bruised the impossible parts of me, it left me in strange scenes.

Something is taunting me. Intimacy, love of the lovely sitting on stairs, singing. The sincere, somewhere, I like to think. And one day we'll reach and relate under unified theory, fly from cradle to creative capacities. The chaos of beauty - break orders and borders and spin in vortices of vortices - wake up looking through french doors to sea, through raindrops and leaves in trees.

Cyclical self reference grows and shrinks in concurrent context, what do we do with such seriousness? There are no wasted elements. Pinpoint precision of overbearing subset. Perpetual motion of particulate percept. Poured onto sandstone, into the trough, over the faces and edges in shimmering froth, the glass palace stands in sandstorm, its obelisks fade into orange haze; foundation: mirage. Gardens, forever abundant, adulation redundant in entourage. At night braziers warm massage.

Impossible guard, prepped polearm by bulwark profile: carapace ember in heatwave of sun. Arms topple column. Legs crush pauldron. Voices like earthquakes in war stall men. Unison footsteps force to chamber. Wall and ceiling and floor of limbo, fevered escape gradually gradients to somnambulant return to ward.

I take capsules. Little glass capsules.

Glass castles of burning dragon, spoke in forked tongue two lungfuls loquacious eloquent praises of their blurry faces, some cheekbone, some sort of scruff, pursed smile pulls platitude personality from cunt.

Shunt, shunt. Mirror minds affront. Fading deficiency dimmed into silence of breathing and eyelids in sequence, closed for hours, opened to white padded nothingness. No nothingness. No nothing.

We find beauty in the broken. We chase the fading moment into memories misspoken. You could present everything, I would only see my notions. I love to be broken.

Rays melted my arms apart from wings, puddles soaking feathers falling from the sky. They go bye-bye, beyond oceans of mind into the sacred place we hide the things we find. I hid it there. I broke each clock that told me time, I made myself blind. I knew what was inside, God can't blame me for how hard I tried to hide.

You would seek and try to find each of the parts of me. You would prod and you would play and you would laugh at me. Now we keep the world away to feed on worthless words where we embrace our broken ways. You gave everything so I could give in kind, I stole a thousand times.

"You own body, you own soul, you own mind."

I own all things I find.

I own the weak, I own the dreamless. I own the insincere. I own the ones who look you in the eyes and lie, I own the dead inside. I own the beast, I own his intentions and genius. I own God and all his weakness. I am more than frozen at the center, I am speechless.

Let it kill me. Let it kill me. Infinity foundation, death is creation.

Cataclysm blooms and consumes harmonies. In the current of conflict we find what life means. The context brings sincerity, oft subtly, always deeply.

I know what you want to say.

I see it in eyes, I hear it in sighs. We hide and seek them, peek into ajar blinding mystique and laugh until vision returns us to the babbling creek amid impress of every critter crossed, careless contact, melodies of nature's song in repetition, deviation, never same, never lone, grown in universe of pebbles thrown: the home sweet home.

It is all home. Valley atmosphere diffracting radiation satisfies all motivation, plucks you from lesser dimension into that beyond mention. If you stand right here, and look this way, everything and nothing are the same. It shines through what we make; Arecibo cradle crystal wind-chime chandelier, seen from basin, field and forest by passerby reflecting light from high above into quiet of night. The breeze plays scales with patient innocence, and sighs.

Feathered fluff of heavy breath blinks its beady eyes, heartbeat races to heartfelt places. In height it's you and the ones you know dropping to catch and soar from claims of stone. You never could have walked away. Only wings gave you the choice to set your fate. Now naturally flitting between beautiful things until composing a nest with eggs, resting to nurse cradled days. The songs from the towers have always played, and I hear you sing along pathways.

Swirling knots of trotted soil part hurricane toil, fast and slow motion ocean green and folly holly waterfalling from bark arches sprawling. Diamond walls mirror perfume waterfalls, gold sequin glints with wind, carved faces doe and dove within peer without care to calm our air to fly forever freely from treetop to aerie den. If you stand right here, and look this way, everything and nothing are the same: Conception and deconstruction, recursion of recursion until the end of games.

Infinity's small and incredibly simple. We know what it looks like, it's inconsequential. We go forwards and backwards and from side to side, but other directions can be hard to describe. The sun never sets, at most it eclipses. The orbits are spirals in cosmic ellipses. The machine has no friction, it’s beyond human diction.

Immaculate perception became and went to greater place, into fate, faith, forecasted, entertained, forgotten and left to change all ways, all wills, all things. The little thing, it danced on rose blushing skin and birthed life at whim. It twinkled eyes and lived in sighs, it wound heart hairspring dripping milk from breast down sides into basin where we created life.

"Aphrodite dear,

There's no such thing as fear-”

Life is absolutely sincere. Here it evaporates to fill at first the clearing, continued to alembic woodland distilled spirit. In attention or inattention the ground itself gave way to milky fog, not cold but hot, not dull but filled with all things sought.

It collects in brooklets to basin - Anna, Emiliana: when you show yourself you show me too. Your soul is smooth. A touch to mend cuts, stings and bites with water of life from Olympus above. Cheeky cheeks, eye-light peeks, helium cherub squeezes squeaks. Seed of sincerity, speak in spaces and encompassing structure.

My Madeline, my mystery - I am so surprised that you found me. The night is found in minute pings, vague outlines not quite seen. Colorful, wonderful scenes - bubbles and streams, feathers and cream. Every cradle of life in one single silk string - tie buttons, follow thread with finagly fingers. Your tongue in cheek lingers.

And you are reaching, or maybe teaching, but lying in beautiful ways. Between moments koan stays “There is no rationality to passion, the gravity has fled-” and right and left break bread and narcissist, always the loneliest, is fed. Facile faces say what can’t be said.

From aphros arise, suspiring sighs. The suns rise in time, fall in rhythm with stars. Bodies congregate, absolved of weight. Fly over sight, under standing: satiate the sole demanding. Given space impedance melts. Borders fade, miracles sway, leaves shade. We found our place, we found all things in nothing, we found rest in chase. We found pattern in perfect abstraction, hearing in brief clarity the symphony of crowded station. Unweave the storied stances of soul silhouettes, chart the timing of steps - cohere slightest of breaths.

“You do not belong to you” she said.

Felicity of flower bed, bloom with tender touch, taken away. In quiet collections we contemplate, in fire we jump to conclusions. Conception breeds little you’s, little me’s, and we fall together into histories. Where does one go? Through the song of infinite flow, where all things bond, and all things grow. To love highs because of lows, to love naivety for the truth it shows.

Spiral through eyes, leave me behind.

The fog encompasses fountain, embodied ambit of dimension. The water flows but the wind does not blow, and the sun does not rise or set, but everything glows. Follow pathway to intricate ends, touch liquid with hands; Clarify, there are no confines to the font of death and life.

One could drift forever, and never realize.