Dreaming in Texture


Empty manifestations with minds of their own.

But will first blush, allow for separation of church and body?

In the bronze light of smoke-filled ambivalent days,

azure skies.

Course,

I have never liked blue.

Considering it always looked pungent on you.

Why is it…only in the light of night,

you clearly,

always,

wanted more for less?

No matter,

past or present,

dreams are in texture

and

color in screams.

Faded rust,

peppered with,

a crunch,

beneath bare-feet.

Nighttime in fallen leaf.

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