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Bleach-white with innocence, his little genie tries to convince him:It's about what inside; stop listening to that scarlet-clad midgetBut to his surprise, for once they are agreeing: It is all about what's inside
The sound surrounds me thus superfluous movements consume the proximity. Supercilious proxies place themselves above me like an Aurora of boreal proportions, unorthodox luminescence provide unimaginable distortions.
Our language is immortal,
Written on our graves
Accessed through any portal,
It is as countless as the waves
I let myself smile a big unfamiliar feeling
goofy smile
because the words are pulsing
out of me.
Pushing out and
then
when they make it to the surface,
slipping like raindrops down
down
The width of a smile is proportionate
To the woman's disconsolate heart
