postings of obscure thoughts from the corners of the spiritual worlds

Friday, May 20, 2005

and a beeping detail

nose smells the sound of a horn beeping in my front yard with its ever expanding coat of blue cheeze dressing for work and going to find the money with its heart in a pocket of red water color and pastel signs that read to the baby passing by in the night's high chair made of green and pruned tuna with the baby not even knowing it still existed there in the night of the thoughs and dreams so real that you drown in your own blood in the vains of gold rushing thru the summer cream soap cans that very by vary and by notes of naught not seen before or again inside the life of and for the void of nothingness the is so big it is smaller than you think you could be tall with your nose in the clouds of noise of horns beeping in my bathroom tub that makes me dream of painting the sky white with black spots of color and forgetting who i am or what i think and if that happens ill know when i see what is really done forever and a day without being alive in the universe of there thoughts and the genus of family fuel that makes cars go fast but do nothing else but care for others less off then the more on ones u know u then who knows your will but bill's silly rhyme of lime and seasons of change rearrange the cups on a table of able butterflies that lie about where they know u or you know not them in the end of sin with kin and with in the bin of boxes locked forever inside my mind and cant excape the crate so i die when the ghosts moves thru the house of mine as the cookie breaks down from lost dos files that never can be foul chickens or smiling effects of less words to read.


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