Throughout

time is consciousness, streaming alive, a bud at a time, a rose running liquid puddles of insanity thru and thru, eloped burning over and easy thru blinds of avenues, sprouting flowers of evil, curses medieval. time is consciousness, a bending through a glass darkly into stainglass windows clinging to raindrops rust, in bellies of cruel melancholy, forever daisies as sunny as smiles whispering deathwishes to alert ears, time is consciousness, bodies bending into the light, loavely bits of bread, scattered among thieves, time to dye and dive into incandescence and scream aloud profane melodies in the curtains of night, time is such sweet evolution, distorting the sound of grass growing, under the horny sound of thunder, open-mouthed like tulips circumnavigating scents, time is as a continuous melody, delighting the years with footprints of God, so carefully ordained, smelling into the nostrils of naked houses, coarsing veins of surrender, the end of pleasure, the end of sounds.