Mrs. Lee

She lived where life counts as if

someone somewhere knows something

more than blind man at the edge of cliff

near the chasm made of smiles.

She knew her way,her style,her blue

as phantasms that cannot sing

but who can hear the sound and you

in wawes of spicey,naked files?

She slew pig in deepest woods

made lonelier by the very same

under the orderless sun

having no price or emotionless fame.

From her faeces flowers run

to greet things we don't understand.

Soundless our love's while counting false goods

we are in the castles of stardust and sand.

And the only thing is beautiful.

Can you hear it?

Vast and endless...

And last that she knew about that sound

is the first thing she found in herself

for this permanent bubble remains spellbound

due to things it finds in itself.

A young pig wawing its mind

had a visible spellcasting friend

and it ran through the friend to find

flowers of it's (made that way brand)

Who could we be to say that Mrs. Lee

could say to us that what we are

somewhere where star,reader and bee

are next to seconds and star?

Can you feel it?

Right and painless.

The way of plants,the pull of pushes,french;

no matter what,she knew everything,all

that knew her. What is that stench

that smells like everything and all?

'Twas first question making her mind

question itself and questionmarks

and that beyond this and behind

every joy,all of the sparks.

Tremble do not,you frailest creature.

Take your time - an endless but.

For in the eyes of a sordid preacher

you are the worm in a chestnut.

One day she noticed she can make things

out of things,shifting their shapes

and she knew about what every bird sings

and why is the time leaning on tapes.

And then she saw you.