"A. Bliss"
When a clock strikes more than once upon a time.
At that point I feel safe and secure, no longer living in a strange place.
New thoughts are born in my head and old ones die.
Dreams float in midair.
Rolling paper turns to smoke and vapor.
I am lifted into a new world.
Where mountains will disappear into the clouds.
Only to appear when the time is right again.
Crying into a handkerchief.
Like the tearing eye into fabric.
It clings to the edges.
There are no ends where they give.
People just want to live.
A life of bliss.
Where the grass is greener.
Cows graze and give their milk.
For calves to suck on.
Turns into melted butter.
By Jon Billet
10-11-05
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