B67 … you see a man standing in the rain

You see a man standing in the rain wearing a mask and you immediately ask him ‘what’s this all about’ and he says ‘come on man you must know by now the world’s in siege’ and i say ‘no i didn’t realize that this was the end coming on so strange’ and he just talks himself away carrying his throat in his hand and his eyes glued to a screen. Some woman from another side comes over and says she’s got the answer and then crawls away singing with her hair all tangled up and her tattoos melting into her soul. Everybody’s talking about some president and the nature of some facts breaking down across the boulevards and just how true’s the hot needles goin to be anyhow. The day breaks just as planned and the straight lines and signs keep moving thru the haze and just when you thought you had something worth a look another masked man appears and slips back down again to whence he came like it was normal and sane. You got no place to hide so you slip on a shield and join right in like you belong to just exactly what’s happening and hope you won’t be noticed as you dance in and out of the debates and scary air. The angels are hanging off the glazed architecture and the flames keep shooting up higher and higher into a real pretty red sky. Nothing seems dangerous to the crowds and the bands are all forced to separate inside. In the evening when all the nails and glue are asleep and the views are readjusted the climate dangerously changes from a hot money energy forced around a grid. Sacred visions enter silently until the night air disappears and the long big picture assembles once again with a smile hidden within the wind and the waiting dawn emerging awake and it all continues back on down into the front lines and the counting continues like clock-work made out of stainless steel. The experts got it all under the scope and the packaging is perfect for the digital facts and the answers have all been rehearsed for the dubious minds and for the ones left in the ditch that don’t give a damn and for the ones that know, know you’ll never figured it out with time. The only sound that’s left after the angels disappear are the jingle jangles from the dangling signs and sirens inside the weary lost souls and the slow whispering from the calm and peaceful winds. Flesh and crystal metals takes love into another unknown dimension and life travels much further from the natural gardens and birds sing their praise for the day and time stands still once again.

images and writing by patrick wey

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