Thursday, April 3, 2008

Gosling point.

And when that frizzled frog lets out his croak,

Catch it. For, it breathes.

And in it is a life more sound than ours.

The candle flame may not go out,

But does it burn all blue?

The shades of dark and light they blind, the eye.

So sing with us, and dance.

And gaze into her depths... for in her eyes, are distant fires of forgotten silent stars.

The silence screams and blue warts gleam,

As frozen hurlies squirm.

And gloaters bloat as up they float in soupy tepid air.

The music trills in sensual rills,

And sinuous snakes, they dance...

Along the lonely crystal river that never ever, not once in it's life ever, spake.

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