My thoughts come in amazing phrases, in eyes closed portraits and paintings of the surreal, in swiss moutains cutting deep down into the rocky earth and high into its ceiling, they come and go with hive fives and thumbs up, laughing at one another, smirking and grinning, they are amazing little things, that make sense of a seneseless world, within never ending sentences, tossing little birdies up to pleonasms as they slowly eclipse the sun.
The tree outside my window is wearing its winter leaves, faded left-overs from summer. It waits for spring to be greeen again, because here, the leaves never fall and flowers don't die.
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