Two soldiers
Who write together
Question life's
Serenities

Loving words
Is a craft
Of crazy wastefulness
And tastelessness

I forget at times
That the moon
Does but one job

And the flowers
Dewy, yellow, and ******
Lay there
Looking nifty

Laugh at the clothed mother
At the way she prances
And dances
At her own secret sorrows
She knows
But is unable to show

A word
Is a word
With one thousand meanings

Some are demeaning:
*******
**** my ****
Lick my duck
Your never enough

But whom do I truly talk to?
An illiterate
With already enough of the jive ****?

Or maybe
A stronghold of a woman
With a temper tantrum
Of an intellectual
But a face of suction

Grudges ain't never enough
For they share no sense
Of absolute solitude

To write
To be alone
To cry
And then die
And to then reach readers
Where ever they may be
Will ask,
Why?
Why?
Why?
Ha!
All who strive to feel
Love to be beaten

But they are the ones with the questions
And we are the ones with the answers?
Go to the monsters upstate
They've been signing all their papers
With ink blots and officially posted dates

A will less man
In a world un-renewed
Is a follower
In a loser's shoe