Fallen Season

Hello, my page. It has been quite sometime since we have last spoken. (within the wheel) They say the man knows his direction. Glowing, snowingscapes of leather capes and paisley drapes; shrinking. This is the feeling of a man. But what man? The one with the italian pipe in his lungs and blue-grass in his veins. The rice,,,the rice. My lovely knows her place among the crows. She, Gloria, and ridden. It's true.

This truth

and those lying outside the chapel with top coats and jerkins.

Forget.

The lost and the for.

gotten.

leaves surrounding the scape noted above.

A true note.

Note the truth.

and the sleepless inside the outside fortress of her dreams.

There she exists

without a reason or a fallen season.

Compact these lines we have not been able to write for sometime and the page never forgives its only Forgotten.

of what man?

again you ask.

Joe if you need to know.

The christians call him Joseph. But we shall call him Josephus.

The braven hearted Raven among the crow's murder.and the sleepless

noted above?

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These symbols mean nothing to you, do they?

and you know what I am talking about.

YES!!!! FINALLY!!!

you speak of Raisins.

Nay. The blazin hearted cherrywood pipe that calls for your death and a reaction or an abreaction.

But a force none

The less we speak of this the more we

shall

Falter

upon the stones

in her pathway.

She is not the muse.

I knew what you were

going to ask because

You

          Now

             Know.

The secrets of silence and the eternal

Foreplay your mother never wanted to tell you.

We are leading to the apocalyptic orgasm.,,

or at least a damn good one.

What do you say of her?

Trees are not dead in the Winter

So we agree.

yes, and you knew this was going to happen.

didn't you chance upon her?

If chance is the word nowadays.

Turn this damn Bach music off. Give me Italian Baroque or late Renaissance.

Ok. What ever you say Doctor.

These truly are

whispers of

the virgin Mary.

Silence is for suckas.

I disagree.

You would.

What is this------------------------->

Postmodern?

postmortem.

The word will always be the new

Frontier.

What about space?

It can exist.

It can exist.

But you might say it is a waste of space.