two arrows shotat each other
useless anticipation and ribbons of blood
you were probably singing about mack of wood over steel or maybe it
was the other way around..
the curtains come up and down
winter rolls on by for a few months
but still and underground
a tuning fork swells in your eyes
there are strange trees and mists growing
on your gard’n mountain
I might be in debt and los to the sirens and mermaids
resting on that furtive shelf
(and I know I shouldn’t talk about that)
Still I know there is purples years at Marienbad in your heart
and I overjoyed to hear those lost stories one day
I see you pursued by fading haunted tunes
impish devil doeof a Forest flower heart