xoet the poet

any of these things

I don’t have, had any of these things.  When does the price come down as, living life costs too much too?  Burning my fingernails in my coffee-n there is nothing left to sit on in this time warp called conic distortion.  Where does the ever-expanding explanation of music make sense to the different languages that are.  Paying the doorman again for the door to infinity I end up elsewhere?  Read the red working ants as they burn their way into the lost shining sun that circles in their mind's eye.  Ever green lines under the skies that grow and grow into mush.  This girl is bright this girl is now their right.  Perfection becomes the most imperfect thing that existed in the list of things to do next.  True believers don’t believe anything and everything they do believe is not real.  Proven trust comes past the endless flow of Buddha’s path that leads nowhere and that is where I have been but still are I am.  Flowing following freely into the abyss of bliss.  The boat floats in the tub till I pull the plug.  I’ve drown in my thoughts of nothingness that I can’t resist their effected drifts into the real.

posted by Bill Newbold @ 2/21/2006 07:50:00 PM