breadfruit the pineapple with green

first the thought is i am crazy
then as time goes on and the
foundation of
a soul is built, my
feet as they walk produce an echo in the
pea gravel under the asphalt,
whispers return and the whole race of feet
march collectively,
under the grey is blue and in the darkest black
is mixed light cobalt,
a truth or not it is one
piece in the puzzle, the
window i look out of, where i
see the veil, a torn curtain, a desperation
of stitching, and want nothing
more then surreality,
French lessons, lions on beaches, all
golden all hallucinatory, an alarm clock in my mouth
going off when just the right combination of
words build up and instead of speaking, i wake up