I go to where the tornadoes go to unwind
Where magma chills out . . .
To escape where mind sharks swirl in the mists of time.
I lounge in the whirling colors of sound,
Singing the pictures that reel around,
Losing the division of the senses. . .
Was it seen or felt . . . heard or smelt?
Listen to the waterfall of colors spill. . .
Splashing joyfully around
Music flowing brightly making no sound
Notes flying on dove like wings
Releasing the pain that threatens to fill
Breathing deeply the smell of Blue
Listening carefully to secrets revealed
Sitting quietly in the smoky mists of time. . . . .
Finally I relax and unwind. . . . .