Whisper shiver natural. The lining shift, through my senses - utter awareness. The dunes, my body rises and falls to the music, the shiver bleeding music. Sings of things and it teaches me about the father of my repetition. The brotherhood of my success. Fetal success in the shape and form of flowers and dreams and quiet evenings all by yourself. Rock mossy soft, shiver shiver. Body lifted, painful swishy smoke. It hurts my lungs, but they soak it up, my lungs do. They breathe us and we shiver slowly. Well I was wrong. There in the building with murals and water fountains at your knees. Where maybe I will find the mate of my soul and maybe I will not. And maybe there is none. So death to the sweetheart. On my own I say death to the sweetheart. Thanks for the line. So borrowed. Charred, this music and writing and bitter tongue. Remnants of sugary cake, this heavenly euphoria - a state of nirvana. Enlightenment, this. I am sure this is enlightenment. Staring down, my mind doing all the talking. My fingers listen. Perfectly, music bathes me - euphoric bathing music. Enlightenment. It loves me, touches the back of my neck and my throat and scuffs off the drifting away sadness. Sadness, she drifts away. SheÕs leaving me. I feel good. Openly good. Warmly beautiful the warmth of this nirvana. Bluesy nirvana. Love nirvana. Lightens, touches me. Then the spirit of enlightenment tells me three things. But I cannot repeat them. He loves me, he does. I love him because he's letting me become wholly human. Holy. But not holy in the way they tell us. IÕll tell you. I donÕt belong here, or there, or anywhere really. I belong in the moon-full stratosphere. The bulosphere, the heterospere. The homosphere. The artmosphere. The fountains and drips. Smells and tastes. Quiet tastes, yet seeping, dripping slowly away. Love, she loves me. I know a moth and a lion and a mouse. Mouse, as we speak, tangled in her lizard. Her tall blond and almost beautiful lizard. The sense of happiness on my face made him squirm, lizard. Made him squirm so I felt unfretted. And moth I do not know where she stays, though I know she needs to learn to pull her strings. Of her voice and guitar and very own flitty life. And lion. Lion roars. Strong, womanly stick of pure muscle. Wavy curls, strong brows and bones. Then light pale straight-fair hair. I bet she was a blond child, blonde gurgling baby. Not yet. Baby, I dream you. Push away other crushing dreams and dream of baby. Humming the hoarseness. The rhythmic melody, bangs on that. Body wants to move all on its own. She can move, my body. She can do what she wants in nirvana. IÕm not scared anymore. And here wholly and holy i'm drifting up, up and there.