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An eloquent visage placed upon a pedestal of mosaic stones, 

Creamy white snow shimmering, 

Glistening freshly cut phernomes sit eloquently upon your chest. 

"They will die!," you say. 

"They will die!," you say. 

Erogenous plains outline your temporal landscapes,

An infinite glaze of still-life sunflowers,

Procreating infants breadth, 

Hypnotizing Adriatic oils,


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Too Dead for Dreaming

I look at you

You don’t look back

You can’t hear what I’m saying

Blinkered, you start to backtrack

Into your world of playthings


I wish you’d join me

You never know what you might see.

A thousand fountains – a million forms of ecstasy

A trillion ways to make your brain cells dance

But you won’t even try, your pupils are too blind


I’ll speak to


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