To the masochist or to the savior we made it almost there and at the hesitation developed a radiance just beyond the need to claim or a nuance ahead of famous blues, exists the need to renounce but not surrender like an ever after and immortal
war without killing paradox and moonbeams apocalyptic patience
We thought about it and thought about it and thought about it and what we thought happened, what we thought really happened, wow. My jasper subconscious, clean and manic like a prom, dress. Dress better. Since thought is the higher vibration of action, once you think it, it happens— but the past is also a dream and our thoughts often relapse into that quiet addiction to dreams and phantoms and the tension is almost unbearable but there's a laugh with the mutable value of silence/fantasy, always climbing the rhyme and landing on a slant to seem like time we have to act fast, but to refashion time, another drastic master of his instrument, flask in his breast pocket, knocking some beautiful woman to her door or watcher, wakes up feeling hip and uncomfortable like it was all a dream
