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cypress green water
and whirlpools of blinking diamonds
white stepping stones
delineating dark falls
wholesome deep secretive
assertive silent negatives of the sky

the eyes to the surface
an unseen messenger bird seeks to meet
the simplest, the most earnest, the most concise description
-the afterimage of destiny
an imperfect chromatopoeic liberty.  

the passage always stumbles on the same obstacle
the mother of all illusions:  

a face still extraordinary from the evening
yet to be diligently tamed   
but not entirely rid of the inevitable teasing loose end,
a yellow airthin whimsical branch
-the possibility,the craving that is:
things may be undone
from their tense blood-dry
completely knowledgeable form.

the thinest, most untravelled, most invincible, most chromatopoeic
stranger of a scent, of a sound, of an appearance
of barely any substance.
an unruly second shoots upward away from the hour's grip like a loose spring.
shoots down into the abyss like a perfect stairway in the sea.
dead cold
then rapid sunrise.
only rarely
does a dream so profound
so golden and alive    
so perfectly
so thinly and quietly

-like the shimmering foam
at the shallow end of the water
the smooth end of the land

-like a coy smile
in the milky early daylight

-like the solid painless halt midway
the rhythmic dense pause
of a seamless wandering dance

-like the swift hand that captures
the moment quivering on edge
at the floodgates of time.

only every day
a face slightly coarse
from apprehension
and calligraphy
-the weight of the world
and its wordly longings-
that contemplates
the possibility of a perfect
-midair, midsun, acutely silhouetted-

cypress green water
and whirlpools
of blinking diamonds
electric undercurrents of blue
weightless nonwords
-more tokens of reminiscence
than monuments of significance-
a face slightly ordinary
here and there a bit more blemished-red than desirable
a slow unkempt affair,
-a depaced walking dance away from the hour's grip
straight (shotdown!) into the earnest sighs
the roar the roll and rumble
the warm friction of boundaries.
the red-ring loud loud hollow echoing burning overhead always.   

blinking steps
stepping stones
ragged seconds
ragged stars afloat a painting accident.
a slowly dawning unkempt face
the afterimage of an imperfect
is color the result of imperfection?
BrightBlueWindWitch Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2012  Student General Artist
Imperfection is much more interesting, I think...
phoebeplupp Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
of course! ;)
SECRET-NINJA-SUPER-M Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2012   General Artist
That was amazing
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Submitted on
August 28, 2012
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