Edgar Froese, Founder Of Tangerine Dream, Dead At 70

She worshiped the derelict spaceship of my artistic halo,
yet those lines of repetitious innocence were simply me,
pacing the pavement, releasing fever dreams in measured doses
like angry air from a balloon; in her mind she sketched my hungry fingers
with a crayon made of heartlust, and now, all that I can remember is
the sumptuous spaciousness of her feathery kiss.

When I close my eyes & sing,
the banality of life disappears;
I become a nebula whose masks
of matter shed in billowing layers
like a vivacious snake whose sudden strike
unleashes a swirling galaxy of empathy
from deep within my battered heart.


Please enjoy my books (FREE pdf of first two books here) and leave a 5 star review:

Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic

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