I sometimes stood for long momentslistening to some bird telling me of the strangeness of myself

It's a dirty self-cleaning universe.

Strange imagined shapes of things,wild distortions of the familiar,like the galaxies, pinpoints,of the imagined; untilthe polished multiple eyesof lofted telescopes —while buffeted by cosmic dustand plasma —passed down bit by bitthe great glass marble of the universe.

blinded visionary that locks the moon in place;I am the simple sieve that drinks the universe.

Your voice still beating inside my skull,as if I could put my fingersthrough my eyes and pull you out.This dumb external universe.

The most beautiful videoscome from reading poetry.And they're in your head.

What is imperative is the Off switch;which he, at one point some time ago,opted for himself.

The light air, the restless leaves;the ripple of time warped by our longing.There, as if we were paintedby some unknown impressionist.

To violate beautyis the essence of sexual desire.To procreate is the essence of decay.