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Blank Page This blank page is as infinite as the imagination and is the cornerstone of every creative idea...

In the morning a new existence creeps, kissing the river and casting dull phthalo green shadows thru out the iniquitous city, and a dainty bright cloud high in the cerulean sky is the only escape this fluffy daydream lingers and lifts you from this world and takes you wherever you wish to go, like a story being developed on a blank page when lost in thoughts of Elizabeth Reaves This vacuous page is the portrait of each pulchritudinous soul and is as innocent as the emotions that drive them... Time passes like minute hands on the Suns wrist watch Each life is the second hand ticking away closer to the grave Or closer to the truth - life and death are one in the same just a simple step beyond the mundane And everyday I wake to see her face in every vacuous reflection and blade of grass emulating lost thoughts of Elizabeth Reaves This empty page is as deep as the enigma that holds you in languor stagnantly right in front of you wishing to present its presence... Bukowski said we are born into it Kabir believed all we know is already in us (pause) And at times it appears we are born without choice when babies are sent off to foster homes given up by delinquents, drunks, and druggies - too imprudent to accept responsibility or placed in front of televisions to quiet their cries of boredom - as parents are forced to succumb to multiple jobs debt piling up like the land fields of the over indulgent - fools and advertising And what of the ones who file the paper work for divorce what do those urchins see of dubious love in pseudo times Marry the page and raise your offspring with the music they hear singing from the empty voices of the angels whose thoughts are lost of Elizabeth Reaves This cogent page can set you free with one ink mark and will ask you questions that daunt the enlightened... Whose running America?

Whose the Ecclesiastic pulling the strings? Who controls the controller when sex and religion are weaved into millenniums of lies told thru ancient journals saturated with holy water and pornographic magazines are sold at newsstands while the public is continually anal fucked by nothing more than a lie And today technology replaces deities and allows Facebook to digitally manipulate society with flashing pop up ads, walls of written inertia, inane announcements from friends and online gambling games that stop you from gamboling about in the parks and playgrounds - celebrating as you sing hypocritical hymns of blasphemy But as you shag trying to find the red carpet of american dreams Can anyone tell me where freedom is? when cages are placed around marijuana fields and buried to the ground like another Great Traditional Holocaust meant to abolish choice - is that mythical apple tangible or merry abstract? Questions rise from ideas that are written down and always seems cogent as displayed in lost thoughts of Elizabeth Reaves This plain paper is the essence of every paradigm and is paramount in the unveiling of the paradox... I write for the right to be, liberated from all democratic parties and asinine laws of man and from a knavish government who are nothing more than glorified mobsters ran by the banks and aid in unpalatable corporate educations why is this always written on paper I write for cupidity and benevolence ignorance and intelligence for piety and Zen hate and love I write these vociferations on this plain paper longing for lost thoughts of Elizabeth Reaves This opaque paper is all that I ever have had and is the sole assimilation of the poetry I will always see... How I long to find true love and the wisdom she holds: black is white, organic is inorganic, dull is bright blue is orange, a square is a circle, hue is value the heart is just a muscle, the flesh is just a vessel energy is movement, dancing is communication the paper is everything, the medium is nothing faith is arrogance, god is you heaven is here, eternity is now And thats all that will ever be including the wine and me and the paper, with ink so thick it becomes a new gesticulation of wiggles looking to find serenity thru a medium wanting to interpret opaque

philosophies of lost thoughts of Elizabeth Reaves This manufactured log is the beginning of all that is sacred and creates history to be played out by perpetuated generations... Take it as it comes baby, Jim still sings to the beautiful crowd filling the manufactured log each person dying off with the old their clock broken their bodies ending, their spirits becoming a fluffy cloud that inspires a daydream And time passes like the leaves on the trees in this universal garden forever changing And I leave you with this People, its time for a change But until this occurs Ill allow the paper to build a cloud to take me away from this manufactured life and send me tumbling tumbling tumbling to lost thoughts of Elizabeth Reaves

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