belonging

At one end, mist pervading brightness that renders everything, All, Into features of gradations of layers, And seems to be the source of everything, From which all emerges and returns to, At the other end, In the other direction, Sharpness purified vision, By edges and dimensions, Astronomical architecture, But I can not talk of the beauty, Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Waves dancing inside, Over perceptions, Deep waves, Unknowable waves, And it seeks to find its way out, Indeed craves to know itself, To become whole, And it will sacrifice itself to do so, The concentrations of Gewa Jones, His story was pungent aromas, Pregnant pneumatic portals, Mnemonics and Peppers, Fate and frequency don’t equal the foreplay, The end falls out of the beginning 2 My body is a bubble, My brain is a double, But I only want to talk to you one more time, Borrowed beauty burning with the forgotten past, And turned over in spring, A ceremony, A covering, Tender clouds inside, Gently shifting imperceptible billowing, The softness of green shoots after a long slow rain, And inside; A hummingbird tongue, And a taste so sweet, Vibrating in its desperation, Flying fluttering fantastic, Dazzling it tries to imitate the air, For fledgelings lost from the beginning, For new borns too afraid to see their new home, For fifteen samples of porcelain holograms, With a life of their own, But they didn’t know, Their clothes were freezing cold, That they were just placebos, Tomorrow I will take them to a real show, And we will dance on the turning points that arise from the gap between absorption and reality, The scarecrow of the fields of my heart, New enough to be called awake, Windows to toes, I only want to stand with the sensual critters between snowflakes, Snow angels and floating sounds of doves, Bestow and below be a tone, Get out your own stone, The sound of water in the walls, And I ‘m sleeping on my eyes again, All my whiskers show, And only my bones know how to tell which movement is real,