oh ya

Head perfumed flower craze, wave ancient tidal maze,
the timeless ghost flight source, one step double exposed,
in snake eyes and sunbeams.
Wind ripples the sand inside an hourglass. An earth quake silently slips
the mirrored surface over the lines on my face, over skeleton dust
in the cave of lost lovers. I crave to forget all the questions I hide in my eyes.
The ghost flight desert wind and an ocean song, through a
radioactive headset wired to the stars, gazing past all the deaths it
takes to measure up to questions of faith, and guessing how many it
takes to superimpose Gods justice over my hopes. Is it too late to call it
fate? Or too early for my nirvana to accept, sin and salvation in every breath.
The wheels never disengage, but tip toe around roses and thorns, the garden
at rest but not asleep, each contact is with my third eyes ghost print ghost flight
in the green chest question, knocking on the winds with loose reinfected rights,
brought back to life with witchcraft for the opportunity of redemption,
caught in the onslaught of slippery kisses, left to die in the same burning schemes,
without the knowledge of the one small step into steam vision within the radiant
invisible insight the super saturated trail of a shooting star flashes through this quicksand atmosphere that fills my eyes with glue to finally find the only shelter lies within.