I wasn't the first to enter
mother's womb...

Thistles were born
from a purple passion...

Fire born of rapture lost,
visionary within an indigo...

When a woman escapes to the corner
of silence, she dwells upon analysation...

Velvety skies of
stardust tears...

Early dawn,
milking ol Bessy...

This lady placed a smile
upon my face, many years ago...

Finished with ink stained hands
smearing elusions onto faces...

Horrible faces haunt me as
voiceless memories float around a...

If sun comes for me
with arms wide open...

Drums beating within
fingers typing...

Ivy gazing, as starlight guides
encircling beauty of webbed design...