Cloudsages, Brock McFarlane, Anthony McMitchell, Chef Ahlex, Mike E. Chaisson and Mr Stevo on the Bass - The Country's Carpet
Wood burning scented,
Sun showing attempts at well being.
Melancholy until she made an appearance...
Collarbone like a shelf seeing the hills-
Simply captured by describing as running, and fell briefly.
Must have been love, we collapsed neatly..
Eyes glowing, self seeking..
Time stopped breathing,
Grass swords slick.
Cicadas auditioning for such environment..
You see we talked, but never over did it.
Coincidence, but with consistence-
Tree branches, broccolli stalk stumps,
Their flesh nodding in agreement..
The clerk, giving free visions,
cbout how such a scene would differ, if we got a tiny table by a round window, just to eat dinner..
Sitting equal distance between us.
Ill bet that you cant go sign a prenup
I bet that we cant get 3 pups, a spice garden, and free up-
Time to grow, but that's a plan so good,
It can't work....
So maybe shoot for the moon-
The country's carpet...
Soul pigment builds scars and stitches, rich memory like a shoelace,
Bulldoze my perturbations off the new space-
Tabula rasa, enter dream state- clean slate...
Mise en scene / stage-
Clean driveway for the nasals.
Darkness making pine green go chestnut with the sun tucking the bright green legos...
Breeze bending, a desire to see more, ease flow-
Flowers made for bowling and moving by shoe soles;
Dirt ditches passing pure water fluid,
Freeze frame, breathe slow...
Focus appears to be into it, since the feelings feel lucid.
Clouds predicting they own path, intuitive,
Intuition, the corn cobs held together loosely.
Hard to be transcribed to looseleaf so I pause-
Its the view of a landlock,
Glance and make another set of pupils watch...
But forever till the morning sauna.
The quest for wanting something.
c breath could change the subject.
c step to shift the summer,
Up and at em, left, but miss the country sonder.
I miss how far minds could wonder freely,
Trees and soil findings,
Feet sinking into hill climbing,
c natural, neat climate.
cir is clean, brief, finite.
Soft resting places for the head,
The grand natural wishlist,
Primed for photosynthesis, images vivid can vanish.
Broken water bucket handles.
Rolling from the rim apples...
Live in it different, the product of banish.
Sight glued to the sky scramble.
cs tight as a canned good, I'll be free inside of the brush banter...
The country's carpet.
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