Picturesque Lies

A spectacle of hard shapes. Subtle delusion arouses me. Drink up the town, mad reason bleeds pure. Eyes begin to dart, speak in run-on. Head is a storage for sweat - everything closes in. Crooked painting hangs over broke beat typewriter. Smoke sails into patterns. Blink into new temptation. Burn up candles all night, wait for you. Anxiousness inside, eyes linger on walls. Glance fades into darkness. Listen to an empty phone, speak when afraid. Browse at too thick books, leaf through pages, delirious for truth. Round the bend back to religion. Dizzied by twelve films, still onward to mindful music selections. Dance all combinations of movement. The lost pictures of Godard, Fellini in a splendid heat. Sweet liquor swells, driven against picturesque lies, shaken isolation tamed. Hysterical eyes come to something never imagined.