book of fu

It doesn’t matter where you sleep
it’s where the first light finds you
she asked you to remember a song
but you only sang fragments of her melodies
from this, you woke with beard long and eyes weary
she asked, how can you fondle my lovely-sweet body
when you won’t let go of what you’ve been holding
there is so little until you find nothing
and so much when you’ve fallen down
it doesn’t matter where you sleep
as long as it’s near to your heart
and it will find you closer than any lover
she asked you to remember a song
and you painted it on the canyon walls in a low rich voice
it echoed back and you forgot your own name

in darkened doorways, shadows linger, rainbows echo lost across gray skies,went to the store for random facts and zombie novels and we

the small hearts beating, becoming empty drums in endless symphonies, violins taped to your heart strings, soulless searching, lost in a

hallway without mirrors, tracing steps along the way and meeting her inside, no faith , no truth, only raven eyes, be wind , be snow

a god that threatens gets results and changes minds

i trace my steps, with joined hands, i hold my rosary

The Best of the Hipstamatic Stuff. This looks like my sunburned body.

More for your mile points, travel free imagination.

Time Away is Time to play with the windmills in your mind.

Bharoocha. Lovely piece of teenage lust.

Matt Leines makes cool art.

Maybe I should visit Mark!