glides starry heavens and outwits moonlight to bellyaches darkest hours of the milky way,rippling aside saphired skywater and nebulous cloud,bursting into hysteric laughter when galaxies yelled hypnotised by its confidence game.A pearly peal that lingers on its crooked shrouds of the crouched moon,baked sunlight and revisited coyote's fiasco trips.Nor the salmon's silked skins,a dreamyard prisoner of conscience hardly unzipped.Across the mulberry fields,marker rocks and stones,piled into barns,where the semantics themselves,at the forester's homilectics could not fathom the metalanguages of the wild.'A nature's trip to the laity is hard to discern where the trees tell the posterity unbroken and hallowed,if you listen to the leaves.Who will tell the story when mortals are long gone?It is the leaves,wither or alive'.With one foot on brick tenement and another bannister,the semantics thought him obscene that the trees will tell the fortune and leaves a clairvoyant.Now back to the abode crouching
on burgundy.....
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