Can I make a better world today? Lord I try, but the world seems like a slug that is both drunk and stoned.

I have no lips, but I must kiss.

Not the wiskey, something better.

Like a pattern of faded colors on clothes, like blue tint from the sun light, and lakes that seem to shink, as a man thinks, war turns the second hand, for the third time, and on the forth a bell tolls.

We yearn for different islands, yet together in a palm tree we live like flightless birds that can not sing!

Her wind was visable and travelled over the hills of sorrow, a ghost like green glow, she had no body to show, but she shined bright in the sky, cruising with the little dipper, dripping ooze and stuff.

Panting on a pile of pillow, she had her way at last, finally concluded, the past was in the past.