Gnossienne No.1

I do believe the truancy of the written word lies ashen in naked flames

As the photograph lies degenerated,
Pix-elated

Snuffed out soot

Demise quivers tenderly on the floors/shores of clotted cream suit information

The beauty of a thousand fragments can be pieced together with the mistaken adept of naivety.

The sacred is still central

Self I wonder how many think about moving beyond it

More than I hope o dear cyber space!
Space is no frontier, we are already aware

Slow a sloth moving happily up a tree the air of sounds come to me

Aching like a sap in the night

Trickled down such as humanity I wonder

Sacred touch falling big leaves on tender head

I'm frightened to look up

For what is written in the sky to amend my soul
the present it becomes a joke
I'm awake
I'm often asleep
I love her snore

the 12th of 9 of 12