Seven Eagles Moored on the Yellow Planet

Mountains rise and tides rise the field told me that flower birds have their own troubles too. The seven eagles rise in the moon light. They are looking for fresh prayers but can only find the beings without eyes. Here I stand with the tree roots no longer burdened by the Yellow planet. Wisps of smell vanish into my ever continuing mind, thoughts are not the processes we have to worry about it is the things themselves we have to realize and see. Humans are creatures of habit we are open vessels constantly being fulled from within and without. I was once really there with all the trimmings! But now is the time for stopping and giving up. Purple, yellow, and red are the things I think of while flowers dance in my stretched fingers. They are not for others.
Late last night a girl was telling me that the elevator cable was going to break at any moment. If it was my destiny, I thought, then why would I fight it. That’s when I realized I didn’t belong in this time and place and searching for a jewel in this soulless dessert was a waste of time. I was staring at my shoe as I came to this realization and as I moved my gaze towards the burning sun, its rays entering my still flesh. The unseemly nice woman then excavated my hands with swirling mittens on labor intensive kittens. She was reaching at the charred earth out the singularity of being and thought. Is life ending in a blackness of fire and yellow rusted cans spinning down the street while the purple children whisper secrets to each other? Why can't I find the one who sees me in the Nothing. Is it certain in a time and place like this? Nothing is the exception that most of these helpless souls will not make it all the while clutching pine forests, the yearly snows wilting the empty wooden cloth!
With a jolt I come to my senses, no not senses, yes senses, but there is still the burning black rod of trigonometry beating my skull. You will always always fall into the sun my son. No not the sun the righteous cross of heaven will deliver me from the beatings. Abusement singing out loud with my face existing without ever seeing the bones. The radical position you are in to see the truth, the true meaning out there flying with the radio controlled spinning heads, spinning thought the spaces you never thought could be. The ever ever expanding godlike face singing out with all the power (Structure in the first place is false with out structure you cannot see the given things as they seem to be are to be in you ). Its times like these that I remember the wooden planks of my childhood all their actions riding on the fear they inspired in me. The closer we find the games to us, the closer we are without seeing to the final game play.