(no subject)

[thrylos]

Sifts
just to see the
laughing maze that weights his walk with
the dead;
hard gravel,
plopping ran and
gravel,
gravel,
gravel.
He figured that he would be
proudly
stiff,
stiff he
stayed
at the shady basin
where a repetative pattern
is the only refreshment.
in this
sink; a
pillared sword
white like dead,
lays on bright garden paths in the
sink next to
my shoes;
bruised
each small
high heeled,
garden path. There he
stayed; in
his
garden paths
heavy-booted and all waiting for the sunlight,
woman the sun
to wink upon the weight
of a dosen long stemmed red roses as they
sink
to hidden,
thrifty blessings.
Shoes heave as
lead are there down on the ground.
my carried pattern; snakes on
buttons
the passion of an
afternoon - pink was the afternoon-
stumbled
bewildered, his blue body
sunk
pink
on
her paths,
sunk down in the pattern in heaps
of a blossom
underneath a gown that some one had on
that morning next to the shoes.
My aching
of waterdrops falling on a gown
on hook
gown
in a train and rare garden-paths
open months,
letters
lover cover up
a high-heeled walk
of my bewildered
pattern
softness
is
lying at this
place of my pattern
squirmed underneath aching of an
informal silver Thursday
undefined to see
that gown
answer
the fountain we ran towards
man
woman, could have been
anywhere, but it was there
maze called the plopping pattern making the stumble
marble whim
of that of fountain patterned by a bright fan, sun,
and in a fashion,
plopping for a silver
undefined winter Thursday.
Embrace that Thursday and
walk to the gown
that is melting the
winter all morning fighting the the laughter
plopping against
a month that cannot carry sundrops,
in that night,
gown guarded by snakes
blossom love
Flanders
sifts
hair a letter to a
blessing
and melting of
me,
sun, and a bunch of
bewildered letters