The whistles slur over the aspects
Words lost in the river ask me to bend
and give her a kiss,but her heart i can see
A misconfiguration of colours
not separating the vessel
from the shoulders of spring
Between exile to my peripherals
and interpretations on the inside
many a strange creatures have toddled by
fearing to raise me from my rehearsals,
Little men in green suits,Three legged mules
the sea-goat of Capricornus or her alibi
i believe there are monasteries up in the hills
in my name,mortal after all
A wet rock just as capable
i snuck under my toes the moment i realized
the illness of time would have me
Years of watching over the banks,
Idolizing the idleness of life
i inevitably sin today
in peeking across her arms,
Her fire glazed chest and
beyond that the first remarkable utterance
of immortality that was promised
A man suspiciously like me,
from the face to the bearings down
drives his fists into the ground
kicking up the earth,
a pile of rocks slowly emerging to the eye
I hear a melody chancing its nudity
with this unholy dance,
i find myself unwittingly removed from conscience
There are strange things i can think about
right now and maybe tell you
But for now i'll help the man play another song
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