| I feel the cool winter creep at the end of my nose|
On the sheet laid street, beneath my now made calves feet,
As I stagger in unsure awe, at the milky sky, that bore a frozen fruit,
Where this seasons loot, sank, as endless butter flecks dowsed
From the knife like clouds above, as a vast and fluffy piñata.
It . . .
|Read the full of Winter|
| To be truly free, is to be of dynamite|
Flying into the sun, without fear of light
Nor its heat that burns, through empty space,
Where comets flow, as cosmic lace.
You shall know of it, when fear erupts
And when in gall, of life corrupts,
Where sparse is judgement, a barren king,
And drunken angels, in . . .
|Read the full of Freedom|