ST149 ... searching for the broken door knob

with a worn cross around your head.

watch out for the screaming silent ones, the torn horns, the forsaken sculptured mirrors, the vast syllables of solace. take what you can get from the weak and let that sad sorrow slide across the tar. You aint seen nothing yet. The clowns in the front row, the horde of shiny love against the walls, the prophets, prostitutes and paupers playing for charity in the circus cathedrals of life and death and you want my soul to roll along your altar of awards…

‘just about the time the door knob broke’

The cafe was empty, the coffee was done, the voices had all left, the trim around the entrance said welcome, come again, don't leave without saying thanks and tires squealed around the corner to the ending of a decade of times wild out on the highways of lust and miracles.

i'm searching for the lost broken door knob caressing desolation row. I'm searching for the tombstone beneath my head, the dark forces under the bed, the worn cross around your head. i search for truth and reality where nothing exists, where tulips bloom and daffodils die. I search when everyone sleeps, thru their dreams, their deep tortured souls, their lovely leaps. I search without knowing. I am a victim of change and chance, words and dance. I travel from afar to heavens unheard to hells buried beneath heated sands. I am the original spotlight the definite soul, i am worn and tired, lively and bored. I had searched for you in the thickets and hallways, in sick minds, in broken hearts. I found you there forever, lost, eternally certain, dead dying lingering still. i search for nothing, not even the end…..

i hardly wonder what you're searching for….

ps: yes, these social media celebrations, they’re stained of white love, you have to rearrange all the words and assign them all another colour…..
In the fields of grace where love blooms; all the ideas to own lie shattered in their ruins.

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