Two men are watching me, peering with their brown eyes, needing the silk skies I construct from the flames. Ember is her name, the great hemp-doll of the orange glow.

In casa I go to the cat and the phone, the grass and the Tops to clean the scene of prints. I melt and dissolve in salt and slither in the sink. The strobing and blaring of vibes from crime go jump and swallow and swallow limbs. I spy from the hole and wait for the heist, the suspects and tools of 'What's Yours is Ours.'� Chicago be gone and chick-chick don't come. The paperclips 'why'� from the red tape on white and reject the philosophy in favor of lust, slamming hammers and building great cages of the system.

The ink of my production tells lies in forms of truth or even vice versa and mimics the games of the idols of inking. Formations form in formats from fluids and fasten the tales in fashion of poem. A picture-box roars and yells of consumption and vaccination flies by the venting of making.

The circuit type hair of my skull is hugged by the loving Ghosts of the Smoky Creation. No longer a slug in the lurk of the dark but a master and a carpenter of alphabetic skyscrapers, building boxes that sway in the mind. The mentor of senses sleeps behind in the condos of refrigeration and reminds the mind of the muses responsible. My first though is this that I'm centered within while the songs that invade are the flavor of art and a dictionary phrasing of phrases is built. Brewing of an Afterword begins to birth as I search in the thread for my path to the end and detail is mad, unable to be spared and panicking for life to shimmer in books.

Blocking, blocking, blocking. Fading or inflating, needing answers to errors of thought-path architecture, needing a station or a channel to turn to. Think, think, think'�

I drift off into images I cannot write, preoccupied with the nature in place. Cybernature of the Global Village, singing birdsongs to the eyes with pixels of primaries, breastfeeding a baby of the Word to grow into a full-blown epic. An odyssey exploring high examples of life, the sensational explosion of here today in the space of reality - High-Definition Angels of the Psyche Parade! No end exists for the thought and bang-bang till infinity rises from its curse of forever. Happy, shining, beautiful glory and splendor of fireworks ka-zow, radiating and graceful from the starry cock-eyed brilliance of early bird sky in the black and the blue and the grey and the light. God is amazing and being is his with no worry, and love is the sensation of atomic existence, boiling in the broth of fantastic ideas. Knowing is the passion of confusion, seen all clear and born again in the festival of voice. I'm screaming and howling and whooping and wowing! I'm screaming loud of life! I'm screaming loud of love! I'm screaming loud of writing the moment, so writing the death! I'm alligator-fly, fucking hip-hip hooray and I'm moment by fluorescent moment exploding in the feeling!

The second of quarters is here by the four, and the third wants to come to call me away. I wrestle to finish the task of the scribe as minutes go 'tick'� in the passing of time. How many more examples of flair? How many ways to make a goodbye? The fan oscillates to cover the grounds and blows me away. Time and space are ripped apart, vanishing with a great crumbling of celluloid and paper, pulling me into the light as the thoughtscape shatters into the theatre. The audience roars into applause and the death of the moment leads way to the birth of my reward, the manuscript from the thesis of my swift pencil's hand. End!

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