cross your heart and dot your eyes

a steady flow, its leaking is like a sick nose, all i think of is the cold stormy ocean and shrinking into a warm jacket.  the dark blue is dirty with foam and the pounding sounds surround like distant tracks played on key from memory.  the subtle unconcious and its streaming podcast.  no ocean here though, a white desk thats gathering dust as i think and a lot of other stuff that covers its rectangle.  a hate pushing for words when they despise me, when they hide away and when i have other amusements lying in wait.  To distract and pull my attention away.  but there is ever rising a current and i feel like swimming in the flooded waters, with a canoe perhaps, did you think i was a swimmer ?  i am but thats another tale for another time.  when the buildings down come and the streets run into the sea and the black clouds strike out at the hard city surface, the sour dark dark ground beneath screams out and tears out and takes a breath and then smashes back down and the ripples spread around like rings elliptic.  the water tumbles off behind me, down into the valley below where the ground is all saturated with a giant cover of wet that is thicker and longer than europe.  all but resilient and collapsing eternally into rebirth.  here is el dios.