The mind is its own beautiful prisoner. Mind looked long at the sticky moon opening in dusk her new wings then decently hanged himself,one afternoon. The last thing he saw was you naked amid unnaked things.

When god decided to invent everything he took one reath bigger than a circustent and everything began

time is a tree (this life one leaf) but love is the sky and i am for you just so long and long enough

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.

since feelings come first, who cares about the syntax of things?

For surely as each November has its April, mysteries only are significant; and one mystery-of-mysteries creates them all: nothing false and possible is love (who's imagined,therefore limitless) love's to giving as to keeping's give; as yes is to if,love is to yes

Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?