Death was the beginning.
Death of pre-memory thoughts.
I am ready to enter the sound, without a shadow.
The fire from orifice, clouds,
tears and cascading blossoms in a humming night.
Love, clap and dissolution.
The construction of timeless energy.
Flight of future.
Your resistence melting like lips,
going beyond the chasm.
A sculpted freedom for prophets.
False disguises, somebody else’s identity.
Eyes were cool but tears controlled by remote pain.
Mirrors spooking. A knife knows its job.
It is better to slice the sky.
Great thirst for hip graffiti, tattoos and sketches.
To be seen and admired by dregs of social fabric.
The thought surges like the heaving breast,
hangs on the face.
Death was the cracking of dawn.