language the poor cover tune for pure thought
words the tune the words toys
language a poor substitute for the music
the wordless music wordless
the music is the light the stark freedom sheer
the words are at best only as good as the words
gold fire lifts the linking stars to your skin
alighting the stations through your eyes
your lashes like distant cranes drop molten tears igniting
my rivers of nights
rush to your palace rising
rest in the shade of the pinnacle
my wash of mind has soaked a thousand torched dreams
whose visions only ash under the cold menace of all the cruel machinery
gift me forgive the fateful hour and proof
i am another awol prodigal son
i return with your one-way ticket to burn
how abysmal we give our lives in the spilt and spilling water of eyes stroking hours
yet one day this whisper offered the eternal second's bliss
without warning and in a flash
here the is
a trillionth of the grain of the wordless
