Near the locks of tender words are fountains of well wished clicks of towered time.
We want to dream of our passion
and feel the lines of formed letters connecting romance and realism.
With each hand that moves, our eyes squint and leer past nudity
causing the wish to dry and love making is brutally awaken.
Do you feel overcoming strength lifting tired soliders and yelling
“fall tower, and stop time.
Break the fingers and listen to the endless voices everlasting still, at home”?
Or will you slightly bend from looking down for the dust of Vonnegut’s creation
and be thoughts of madness?
Stepping stones of baby sand, still drinking within the fountains of wishes
to be and be enternal.
A tear soaked sponge sits beside and my back is opposing life.
I will fight and fight, enlarge the list and damn the rest.
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