A car was coming and going
In the middle of a teen city
The teen step smelling his wandering soul
...
There is a song
Pouring into my glass
Somewhere in the Amol
Near the epicenter of a memory
...
How and what and where and who are the ones gaze into the ones of each other
Other than who and what they are, they are the byproduct of the lack product of the sub the jet, the sub of the human grammar
The subject of no object they are beyond any object, they are the byproducts of the whole subject created out of negativity of no the thing
...
He said, write what you have not
said or what you have not heard
Or that the root of your language is lost in the clouds of lost words
...
Like A Teen She Was
A car was coming and going
In the middle of a teen city
The teen step smelling his wandering soul
The soul rising his voice
for the the teen spirit
Gone in the wind
lost on the lost highway he remembered
In the city of nowhere
Where a small tense love
smelled like a teen spirit
And the woman standing at the window
Shot through a teen smelling camera
A tableau shot through
A lost love shaking on a road unknown
And a small unknown death
coming and going through the door knob
Like a see tide coming and going
The teen spirit and the death
spelling in the voice of him
And all the memory a la morte de la ville gone
The memory losing its teen voice
in the song of him smelling like a teen
Smelling like the song lost on the corner of nowhere
Written on the road
spring,2023