blue

towards the sand
of a blown tornado
in it's swift wind
that blindly approach
the blooming bus

i worked in the dusty
yard.

washing the windows
of a word
slow in it's letters

forgotten symbols
in the code of Ra
which approaches
us in our guidance
of love

there is no grain
and the scythe
is clean

blue winds of endless rain
collapse our sick minds
in the dirt of a sick
permanent liquor

the burning approach
of this army
clothes us in the music
of the past