The mind, a dormant stone

Moving Picture Show Forget the colonnades, the parlour floors decorated to arts delite the texture of these clouds are flavourful - full of long exposures, loose posture and sensual remedy. I imagine them lulled by the marching of these pedestrian ants a somber stomp, sounding less like auxillary and more like tired ol trains pacing along the same tracks, tunneled in small proximity, these are the gallows -- once you see the perimeter lines, you are through. No thoughts to saddle the wonderment, there is a lonesome joy in this. So look to the picture show, the gassy colour left from advanced invasions, fleeing like supernova past the scope of our minds. Let the currents make it dance, trot under the stars, until it finds itself settled pushing off the waters in bundles... Still, as the planes fly through, clawing towards mankind find me seated until the last credit pulls from my eye.

A current pushes under my skin, nudges upward. If I bite through, I can resurrect it see it rustle the embers -- a hieroglyphic of heart with a faux rainbow shun past clouds and twilight gases, near the stars, though not sought enough. Do I fan or foam? Feast or feign...? Another night picture to canvas the moon.

From Nicole Fournier www.nicolefournier.com

Intro: Vanity, Soundness, Qualities, Depth-- Newfound reactions portrayed in men. Life giving sanction to redeeming sights, Provide me with wisdom; provide me with life. Poem: The red skin bleeds, memory's conquest. You subdue reality, and in turn Reality bites you. A flesh wound so deeply round and yet nearly life taking. We all have journeys that call upon our company. We untangle ourselves from the roots of depression And clearly set all aside. Time slides by slowly. With-in itself It provides a stationary discipline to resurrect itself Between two different periods. Night and day. Fault and hope. Stationed on line with all complexities to renew itself, Yet holding memories. Uphold yourself to signify each moment And see what brings an ornamental pleasure to peace of mind.

oh my nit suj, when will this life post and when will the signs trust when nit suj is such memory most unlovingly loved. my trials legs under the caravan over 27 nit suj 29 alone on this day lonely promenade to relentlessly attack running uphill with the shackles muddied nit suj buried nit suj burned awake to my distaste. evol you eye. eternally.

Wild in my shoes sunk under the eyes, I find nothing to hold me down to stop me from laying under this train. And though I don't want to be pummeled, there is no energy to sit up and witness another great sunset. Who to find, a hand in the mirror left short again. Left with the darkness creeping up my toes, my ankles, legs wrecked as the saw thins them, this skin I feign to lose. Who to hold and toss a lapse in blood, skin is like a mangy web folicles of hair left red from dye, and maybe an eyelid to push shut. Keep the smoke out, silence the soul.