out and out in the brush fields of our town, angles clown around, hug deeply fly and dance to eternal drum beats of extraterrestrial blowing of snow.
they hide out by the factory with faeries, hummingbirds, flamingos, and the pure holy men of coco mountain.
destination unkown for those place sitting and watching time flow.
the dancer waxes slowly to san pedro, heart music in hand, feeling others flesh, soft like white velvet, in a outgrowth of full moon beams.
the silent gray room is everything, visible everywhere, windows and blustering curtains, song of a ocean, dreams as dreams peer.