a wall of river stone

the compass passes around the fast fabric grounds where the series of dreams dissipates into the day I found the rolling reasons offered from mistakes born fresh into a breaking balance of ringing bells far away a distant sound alarmed the peaceful sails fluttering in the snapping wind cracks of cotton droplets working a minute time traveling about the ruins of memory there I became a strange texture bleeding into borders with color spread thoughtfully around a mandala fortress standing strong to the sun filled face of something new it spoke of unraveling twists like spiced up dainties in groups with the hand held meditation breaking up a grape sour juice spilled from the golden cup of service on a tape toned spruce the texture was abrasively left behind to renew our time it almost smelled to a point under the bridge of road signs renting the broad basement must rust of coins under ruined rugs how that comes into play is rendered language philosophy mud somewhere the questions need to be explored beyond our reasoning to accomplish this is often missed when this is that under every sap dripping from the golden tree beyond where you and me sing straight into the direction where you're are obviously going the bread is bent from knowing too much under a rash armpit crutch so we read and view the answer of a brave new insightful stew what art is to you is most likely not ever going to be truly equalled by the way our eyes are unique and colored beyond mystique round or square forms in a triangle prism shooting stars about homes branding a break in the new way to see through a wall of river stone just as I bend it beyond what limits our reasons in sound the compass passes around the fast fabric grounds