(messing around with multiple language...
the voice of an open God is conclusion...

...She inhales So
her Secret won't yet Slip...

It was too much like a poem to me.
Prose...

The secret is to inform all modes of knowing.
a mind chews vacantly into darkness- rusts...

The cord of the phone
untwists with your finger...

When you first stepped in, your color was black. a...
spiralling deeper into the wound...

I wonder who made the first beach.
It wasn't the sea shells, they were still...

Like bees to flowers, so are the sands of our...
like pointless aphrodesia, braindead amnesia...

And I could think up
a million different...

Recessed against the sky
Like a playful winter child...

You tiptoe through my dreams
stampeding as I wake...

Two suns almost sunken
__steamy halves float...