Smoking here, thinking I should think, not these useless thoughts, something new, I think I think of you, myself and you, we were just things, forgotten so easy, like tree’s. In the closed room I am sure they continue, like some weak hermits, much like me, who are not the loser’s, are the winner’s, though seem to be mirrors, in the sea’s. I need a break away, from murmurs so fine, like drifting out, some streams, like breaking down the dream, of honors. I catch my eye, its dark, colder than you’d like, a smoking death, hand hasn’t touched, another is another, like a wall. Continue on like some revolt, poles hold up your directions, like connections you never had, those that have, they never got anywhere either, never made it, just stole. I guarantee, if you stay a week here, in the lessened form, giving more to you, they take less, like hands of greed, like horses needing more and more, like vultures. If you could write 10 000 words, like thoughts, good thoughts, some special collection, a rejection of the blame, no games, just form of thought, like coats. Why design such slowness, like ears knew, lust for a woman, like you grew big, now small in form, like aches are aches, some sooner made, some less for fun, like a gun, I killed no one. Readers may not have the styles, the amounting need, the fire, to give the work a stage, like rage, a sage, the pages flow, like knowing the know, you grow and grow, just like a corn field, no one knew, deep within a flower. Enjoying is no harm, these words, like flowers, thoughts, caught in finger, caught in key, freedom, express the free, be love, and love, and need nothing else, than me. Edit the stages, graves, like cans of beef, salmon swim, to mouths and hollows grim, a tin roof, some hoof came, a rider of so many worries, stories of the old farms, where raped the dead lay down.