In this corridor (part 1)

In this corridor

each room holds an ocean-a tree- a woman- a farm- space- a canvass on fire- rain- a stadium- passion radiates temptation-stars gaze in between us- things seem stuck here in this thought- i unravel midnight exposing marble features thought unseen- you place your hand on the sky feeling it is smooth this way-certainly not destructive- and what stars search for- is on our path it would seem. So you imagine, if there was paint on the tip of each leaf- what art we would see, in the wind- the mist clawed it's way home – three diagonal monoliths spoon fed the revolution in exhale- this across temperatures north of emancipated rage- to harbor this desire – because the angels collide which makes for multiple dimensions- aimed at once was- scared by unspoken pace- the door closes on this dream- forty cabinets – tongue clarinet- you'd think the music in the room was passport enough- all the electricy coming together forming a labyrinth- some odd code on your abdomen- introducing eyes of the forest – and the force of the night- in a distance shoveled into room 4. this time fire spoke from inside the rebellion we had seen spiral oscillations through time and space- occurring as an echo on the edge of a nightmare- this maddened a tension – hammers hit strings, but fire is seldom scarce in any cause – not to be forgotten. The dream weaver fed fabrics through a gage two thirds of down force stilled- you see, we were all affecting each other this way- and the question of shame- she would collect us by walking a path everyman would follow to convince the otherwise division of those trapped in forms for the sea- mixed emotions in. by my side i kept the voice of fire- still turning to a vision stampeding the horizon.