You woman, Masculine in single-mindedness For whom the word was more than a symptom, a condition of being The ordinary milkman bought that dawn of destiny, delivered to the door In square hermetic bottles He said: "I would like to speak Of this flower dying, according to The curve of a thought Of oblivion it offers in the shelter of the sun And, of multiplied love." This is the light of the mind Cold and Planetary The trees of the mind are black The light is blue, the grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God, the only sanity is a cup of tea this was the last poem I posted with one of my images (In Absolute), but I forgot to link it here. I put it here under the original title. Give it the run down TJ. Hope you all enjoy.

"Every line means something."
Jean Michel Basquiat