I hold my own hand
Walking on cracked dreams
They poke and stroke upward
Soft and hardly in heaven
Walking through the undergrowth
Whispers tickling ears with frosty bites
Texture everywhere, in on everything
All the skin and light and soulful misty mights
Sights sensing my sensory salutations
Tempered into being with my growing wonder
Capturing stars in human shaped jars
Seeing into the nothing of deep sleep
Clouds rule here on high
Soft and mellow soundboards to our whim
Lightening the load for each individual soul
Carpeting together the woven wandering
Dreams may come and rise and grow
Strangely changing oneness into us
Lest eternity ebbs for nothing
Flowing origin into our manifolds
My perspective is granular here
In the abyss of reflection and shapelessness
Tired continuity of bloody watered soil
Tearing myself from my self
Waiting for a you called true
Insisting hands held are ever together
Wishing paths walked point forward
Feeling this frictioned existence
This heaven seems hellishly born
Unavoidable and unstoppable
Burning all so that next might be
Destructive creation we are and see
Lost and tossed utopian bliss
This otherness that makes all of this
Infinite detail in nothingness
The beauty of this fatal kiss
Written by Raymond Johnsen Lucas