Tales.

i wish i could fly away
in the slight recess i call a dream
maybe in your lingering bouts of steam
i could find you in the end of the spectrum of emotions

like Spirits with Steel , Nothing more than a fleeting fancy
As you thread the Milky way , leaving specks of dust along the way
Using the leftover threads to tell others , you were once here too.
Then, reaching over for your coughdrops, smile and pose for the camera.


Were You listening to the taperecorder again?
Listening to your own voice as you took stock of yourself
of better times, of times when the milk way was alot more fun? or was it?
Sometimes , Understanding is like another journey for me to make for you.

In English you say, its expertise.
In the language you know yourself. you call it existence.
In the language we speak to each other. you call it give and take
In the language you have already forgotten, it was longing.


Better to revisit your own grave ? naw.


clarence