Not the time.

It was 11:30 on a wednesday

The throngs of crowds began

Their movements

Like red ants

Pacing impatiently

In an energetic loneliness

There lungs strapped around their hearts

Muscles straitening after a great limping

In a schizo like march

The masses made their way to lunch.

Good to be me.

I followed her maze

Always pointing to her

Jabbing at me

And finally bringing me back

Back to myself

My friend.

Touching the moon.

It rests on easy street

Flowers come out in spring

The pain is gone

Long live the positive

Long live LOVE

As the stalks grow triumphantly

A smooth stream

All is good

All is well

On easy street

Where the white flowers grow

And lights fly from above

Angel of space.

Lower blood preasure is reverse pleasure.

I wear blue underwear with white stripes

They are very fancy and expensive.

The pain the pain.

Oh the pain

The pain

On the bleeding heart train

Sat in backwards

Going slow and going faster

The ground roars

And cries

With hidden laughter

He can imagine her

As if her map had burned

It was not the plan

No

I planned it

You can't begin to understand

Since you were looking backwards.

Dream fsce goes up and then hides at any first bad sign.

Seems like I'm getting something going.

Oh yes things are showing THEMSELVES.

Nothing ever seems to happen in the Bay Area.

Perhaps that is why people like drama here a bit much.

So opens why?

It has slow

Because winter enters

To go

Into the refreshing pain

To electric signs

For evil eyes

That is what you find

As the sleep

Falls into the holy land

Was it shellfish once

They laughed

They painted people purple

But it was shrill

As cold.