ALL things can tempt me from this craft of verse:
One time it was a woman's face, or worse --
The seeming needs of my fool-driven land;
Now nothing but comes readier to the hand
Than this accustomed toil.  When I was young,
I had not given a penny for a song
Did not the poet Sing it with such airs
That one believed he had a sword upstairs;
Yet would be now, could I but have my wish,
Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish.

We sit cross-legged in the story corner
Breathing faint ammonia smells.
Table chants and hymns echo through corridor acoustics,
All creatures great and small.

We are wedged in a tangle of podgy thighs,
Grazed knees, scabs and warts.

And Anthony is sitting alone again
Where he can do no harm.

Yet he said he would bring it, and bring it he has.
Its tiny white head is nosing over
The  hem of his pocket,
Whiskers a-twitch and
Eyes like tiny blood blisters ripe for popping.

A shudder of shivering whispers and
Nervous heads are half turned:

Yes, Anthony is smiling his special smile.

Mrs Lloyd has found the page,
My lids are squeezed tight
As I urge my mind to follow her away
From here, away from now.

For playtime will be ****** once again.

Death.  
Does it turn you on?  
Does it light your fire?  
Does it make you burn?
Not an end,
merely a beginning.  
Some things we know,
we really don't.  
People don't know whether to **** or ****.  
Golden sweet rituals falling one by one to the end of time.  
Beginnings are ends,
toward the perception of fate.  
Anything is possible
as long as we try to make it become.  
We see things that aren't really there,
more shadows that cloud our minds.  
How do we get through our times
without love,
hate,
anger,
lust,
pure raw emotions?
Tell me once again that your life is similar to others.  
Why can't it be different?
Why can't you change the way it goes?  
Do you not control your life,
destiny..fate?  
Morals flowing away like your life.  
Nothing you can do,
nothing you know to do,
nothing you want to do.  
Insanity could be the key to your higher power,
maybe.  
Is it in you?
Is it?
Is ****** in your gut?
Is it in your soul?
Others are born with it.  
Why not all?  
Because, that's what makes us different.  
Nothing like a human wearing their soul on their face.  
Show them all your soul.  
Show them you are different.
Do something different.  
Nothing can be,
only can be what you make it.
How many people own their lives?  
How many people know that their really alive?  
Why aren't you standing?
Why aren't you raising your hand?  
Where is your spirit?
Where is your soul?