11 feb. 2010


Muse sick with out witch
That nothing makes or breaks but twitch
A string and slowly closing in
Feeling flying, flown, riding city buses
Dreaming to sleep
Lulling the thoughts in dark caverns
To learn precision
Remembering love and forgetting ambition
Echoes, chorus, p-u(r)(n)ity
Making mosaics dance in the shower
The shade of the flower
The flow of the laughter
And how nothing after
Trill… Dong, throng?
It is one moment of many voices music
But also many notes one melody- a story.
That is music.
Muse sick. (Drunk, slick).

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