everything is Art, Art is Everything.
intelligent unconscious but beyond an idea we may be dreaming at the very least sculptors of life in a giant museum where artists all,
By susan marie loehe2 years ago in Poets
Stop reading, if you've not yet seen the stars in the canopy of midmorning forest; the bearded faces in the trees nodding their approbation.
By susan marie loehe3 years ago in Poets
But oh the stars * and arms of ocean the hill side of shoulder the jaw of ridge The mouth of river it's silver strands of flow
And her hand rests on the skull As She gazes at the flame In some Dark Room She shines in Yellow * He holds the child, or
Everyone knew about the alleged riches. The boy might not have had much of a chance. Do you see yourself yet? Look again, we're all in this story somewhere, in the everywhere,
they taught me************every other line how**************I'll make some rhymes I didn't have to******for songs to fly and that **********the sandwich so to say
this day with myself is the day of enough love is the day of oh my goodness in the millions and millions, one that's me
the unceasing unease out of time and fading ugly only the angel in the center unseen working the levers of return
called upon by grace to hang me naked on the wall then wrap up in the stars to grow my wings from a cloud that covers the moon
(Of: wails, ales, ails and Wales, Solomon's saga of sacred union, May the mead of plenty have served you well by now and your eyes be clear)
dark horse shining those forgotten dreams and lost wishes just bright and bursting right there on the curve of a flank
or in between the soft ticking of the gears in the depth of the soundwave unburdened by sonic exclamations unlimited thereby as well
