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(Book of Dreams Part C: chapters 1-10) I. The green hill is clouded with lost sheep baring it like polluted steam. II. The stream flows around brown deposits III. and around my feet green halos of shallow mosses living off farmers follies and the dust of life. IV. I've lost my way and stand cloud gazing grazing on the sights from the middle of the field. V. Only three more rotations until I understand your fragile heart. VI. your fragile mind is already mine with its pretty neurons a-firing. ...

Calgon took me away and now I breathe in the summer's day dazed by the alcoholic whistle of the breeze and sneezing back a free sample of my DNA, The CIA couldn't find me now, No longer am I surrounded by a screaming, selfish world the twitter of the bird is all that can be heard as my head rests against the trunk of this great pine, and the only voice that can be discerned is clearly mine. Could I sing more plaintively to the birds in the trees? If sorrow was once more mine. But the sun warm...

Act I: { Curtain flutters to the sides of the stage, two ancient magicians moving to reveal the source of their power. The stage: filled with invisible elves intricately building a tower. The tower: odd angles producing in the viewer a broader sense of self, an understanding of fellow beings, and ultimately a respect for all things as it reaches toward god.} Whispers offstage: "What is it?" "An empty stage?" { Four minutes of silence, the elves working furiously, the audience becoming restles...

I. (the fall:) Laughing, We agree that, to defeat boredom, we should split up Fly into the night and stroll through the day. The challenge being this: How will we ever find ourselves again? II. (life:) Wandering, I have seen Many who would thank god for boredom. Seperate and shuddering Teeth clicking a blue rhythm of cold where once a smile lit drowned in experience drowned and begging god's forgiveness. But still, nearby I see a man eating ham and drinking wine, his best suit on, a black ja...

leaves slapping my cheaks leave stinging echoes of my passage bounce off of solid grey cliffs rising into a scattered pattern of greys whites and why I see purple higlights here and there the cry of a bird. the drums of the city the drifting melody getting lost in washy chords and echoes of drums mix themselves up with my footfalls as their slapping bounces off of solid grey walls rising into neon signs here and there the cry of a bird. My third glass leaves my cheaks stinging echoes of my la...