deepest drops taste better via morning light
when you can see the skin page your diary mind has milked
and legs can perambulate around your writers block
Night releases all that is concealed via noise and light
Darkness is a womb for fertile circulations
it breeds fantastic proportions that simply will not fit within a box
Work may wait,but words are bricks of cloud dreams
built when we are sleeping.They may divide us from each other
yet their solidities are reassuring for Yellow Brick Roads leading to unknowns
The road to London was paved with Gold Bricks for Dick Whittington
If we are deep and silent,sometimes walls of attention fall
and we are exposed to the full spectra of starlit constellations
They pierce curtains enough to draw thoughts out
Feelings can then enter,and drama begins(again!
Whatever happens next is always unknown
It is wise to dream.
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