1 So, it must be understood that my wanderlust and cravings leading to unknown books and verses and trees and rivers and the slow flames of burnt wood in the coldness of a night are means to find ways to the heartland of my soul which lights up like an ember or a dying star when certain words bleed smudging the hollow of my life into something remotely alive
And in the moment of surreal gratitude and serene awakenings there are a thousand men who walk through the courtyard of my dreams whispering words that I read and caress back to life my faith in men and verses. and in between all the thousand faces to find you I metamorphose into your words and rhymes and your name and then you.
2 That poetry is how I talk when silences are misunderstood and I have to hold onto that instant of completeness that lays within like a stealthily shadowing stranger.
And with every night that passes I learn to graft my own words into a pattern that is noiseless yet remorseful and echoes with voices of my soul and shadows clearing a pathway that leads me to a map-less jungle where lovingly I loose my way of reasoning and logic and all that is sane so that I can walk myself astray to you.