out of sight

Ride in wet shadows through loop handles in between truth and proof,
Between the jewel pump and the mood sample button,
In my teeth a sole fisherman remains,
The light dries on my navel,
High gauss harvesting, between time and a record, tied together in the valleys of moribunds’ long slippery venomous green flight,

Blood tide in a wet salivating hero,
The sweat never clears,
The vapour forever permeates between star dust and the oblivion born,
In the swollen windmill distinction of “I”,
Three days of raining for the water diver on the edge of wet currency,
I forget my eyes looking for that little collapsing star,

The light dries to hold all the letters together,
Did they ever wish you well?
In those threads of round succour.

Star diver, on the edge of spare change sentiments,
The ample hands that spill their old hues on the floor,
Holding a frame to trust and the triggers heady thrust,
A folding antelope gliding flash,
Subtle dross connectivity,
The wet and the weaving in the curtains of the heart machine,
Someplace soft for my head,
Someplace warm for my empty streets,
I forget about my fingertips,
The sweat never clears from the news they sell.

Break down in the fuzzy dawn of my quiet needs,
Outseeded my brain like a mushroom cloud,
In the stutter prize of lost voices,
Yesterday’s floorboards chipping away,
Little burnt offerings of slip skin,
Reborn for the last supper,
The thinnest intrusions,
The light dries, on the shore, but out of bounds,
Beneath blanket floors,
My little collapsing star, did the ever wish upon you?
On your wet slippery sidewalks,
Or between meteor webs and the silhouettes of a million watching eyes,
Everyone just bets on the forefront,
14

Until crowns of corruption usurp the saviours pause,
Where algorithms endless sheen drown themselves,
Star dust in a wet tailspin,
The end of sight in the double mind,
Looking induced through a few basic sketches,
Uncanny hinges attempt to sever the rhythms,
Induction lines and second sight,
The stranger dries nonetheless, even less,
In the fragile festival in the boarders of magica,
Working the sandcastles elaborate mirrors,
Attempts to retrace the curse of continuity,
Resetting the three days of wayward wishful viewing, holding the wrapping dissolution,
on the edge of the tide, the quiet flow tried on my deepest fears,
The person to person limits, super summations,
Break out of the ground of deaths intimacy,
Take refuge in the generator of pictures of the storm,
In the control orbs features of mismatched dividends and suspects,
Orders of complication from forgotten lores probe the restful core,

Bounce back the end of flight, all the edges reconverge,
Eyes too thinned by stories beneath the skin,
Fragile footprint wells and faces in the windows turn right into my house,
Nuclear warmth in a perfect memory, poised,
What does it sell for now?
As the flowers fall and make the news,
Wistful instigators inside the sea salt eruptions,
The light dries again.