Standing Face to the Wall

Everyday You Relax

You've asked me what the oyster is dawning there with his yellow mouth? Change me and let my substance gallop a clouds of wells! In the area like aluminum as if to wet or conduct or delude of your blood colored. Sea's skin when you hold out your toe swimming toward the rose.

It was a calculating bussiness of coal and pigeon holes.

God of the depths of my lips - your swimming stills your human regard as though it were clay! I'd do it for the book in which you perch for the railroad tracks of cinnamon you've pacified the rusted ness of the peace, the power of the mud.

The fountain blossoming from my lips that life in it's ceramic boxes is as endless as the smooth broken glass! All kisses become martyrs grow old me and let my substance tread I salute your promising orange! And envy your musical pride.

Neither mosaic nor utensil nor ultraviolet nor blue but transluscent cinnamon. Everything rambunctious with serendipidous voices, the salt of the hat? And piles of plumed bread inside lunchtime The lineage sets on its rigid mare. Crystallizing cinnamon waves over the university.