its a river of many sorts isnt it sweet one...the flow of endless future births...seeded or not...the mix of those who spill their lives too easy...and are not of their own intent...the passable mirrors look at what is there...augmented or not...[its still just a brush with real..as is everything...] and most of all there is the shared of that...whether one is aware or not...whether one is dragged kicking and screaming nto seeing it...we are all connected...and its not a matter of joy or indifference either...its a co-commitance isnt it...we all think were special why shouldnt it be so...................so the poor man of africa...that has only his own awareness of dignity...is right...isnt he...the wash up of the way things are doesnt ape the folding of green...the slap of tidings to the face that death is an important fact...they news is good...its just the day of things that we allow...to see...to share...buts its more...isnt it...
Sugared scent of crimson red,
flows along with me,...its true isnt it

I am waiting under the bright stars,
my darkness lingering in my eyes,
remembering that sweetness
that I have named, you,
black and white intertwined,
upon my skin your name lives....whispering truths


the huntress dreams of her prey,
and so she sleeps away the days...nice ending

louis