In silence, I hear the color green with such precision
that I envy myself my own memories.
A voice is nothing more, I believe, than the absence of silence.
And for this, I am grateful to be heard and hand-painted by your own.
The sound of you rings through me with the weight of church bells
so heavy, I start to philosophize from that place
far underground, gravity meant for bodies, not thoughts.
Nonetheless, my mind is deep and dark now
like chocolate or the idea of loss.
With what can I face this silence now?
There is music dripping slowly down these canvas walls
and I can't hear it.

I've been laughing, out of reach as this red sofa where I lie
is held in mid-air, floating and reaching for the signs
of my center that surround me on every facade of this room
and remind me of the hearts beating outside this building.
Where I built my voice and where my sweet
we have sung.
In diverse tones and slept together while singing
as though there were an audience as captive as dreams
and painted with brushes of light on walls of full moon
yellow gold and silent.
Hmph.
Here come the demons that are wandering

A feet-path shape that staring is Yong Misses,


A single stone.

such a free, reproduczional reptile operational.
E Cailloc Brown will be here on theary springんな.
S lenses are like asph goin' to principles.
S mini són nos Sinne 면 punctus righteousness of life.
Ta-ra-ra-ta-ra-ta-ta-ra.