A trip to the sea,
edge of an abyss;
but why did I not see
like a shoreline,
it's all connected,
here.

A journey it ended,
a metal, cased dock
there was;
crimson shining,
a sun so weird,
today;
but I knew it is bright,
even in sunset.

Beyond, here,
it spins, it is full
of life but,
here it is quiet,
just blood red in the sky.

That was back,
it happens all the time;
keys are turned
and janitors roam,
workers feel plight,
and
I am beyond time-
when I think in my hidden place,
a ride through freeway than
less of man's hands;
light sweater of fine pink
and nike running shoes
are my magic armor like
in my LDS days;
a bicycle,
my only true love,
carried me when 
I was so low,
those times.

You don't get that whispers
in my head are guiding stars
to the reverse of life,
grasping black holes 
of pleasant arcades
in trees with cricky-crick
arms of thorny grab,
it burns when I run,
scrape down my back
as hold loosens-
I am a hollow of her
strange children like that
book I love-

god forgive me as I do 
the best I can.

It's connected,
it must be so;
how else as I here again,
chasing future
whilst past is fast.