Few if any souls
can feel the effects
of icy blasts of
ideas generated
in the cool summer
nights of the mind.

The beginning of time visits us in
those quiet moments,
when we would least like
to be reminded

Of the existences of that intolerable time...
before 40 days,
before 3 days...

Before a day.

Flush out the spruce grouse
of the corners of our
thinking and shake us
from the source of our
sense of self. I do not want to know
what happened before
the reeds and moons of my own soul
began to speak in that
uncomfortable way...

Ecstasy follows each new Splash into another
Speck of the Result.
we can laugh at.

Who can remember?
I remember and
it is not a happy
motion in the area that I like to call Myself.

for interpreter.

Dawn eludes us
I want to escape
the emporium of ideas.

When will we be relieved of the presence of the first
Moment as a source
of heartbreak?
From beginning to end
must be impossible.

A lark spoke...it said
Forget yesterday's
touch and start anew.

Bring the roar
to a higher pitch!

An unseen and
shriek of the lack of color.