There was an unwillingness

of movement.

A stretch like tree tops

in a tempest.

A few indistinguishable words

slipped clumsily into the air.

The visions were intangible;

the ones

you think you touch but

fail to feel.

It was a spirit dream, a

celebration of aesthetics.


A temporary creation of

interior thoughts like

running through water;

a beating of the heart in the

seconds between where one



Radiant neon heaven lights

strike a course across the eyes,

stirring them open

to a morning world.


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