So I sit back in my freshly painted
Living room.

Neon yellow just didn't do it any  
More. That colour blind landlord

Might actually have cost me a
**** fine relationship.

I'm painting over few, ugly fights,
Intense passion, selfless love alike.

White. It's a Gandalf-like rebirth,
This coming back to myself.

I sit smiling in my freshly painted
Living room. Just some man

Waiting to be asked why he's
Grinning like that.

I've painted every wall of my home
The colour of canvas.

Who you are under
A cloudless sky,
Is uninteresting.

Show me a smile through
Drenched hair, wet to
Raindropped lips,

And I'll fall for you,
Knowing you won't care
Why now,

But carry on smiling at the
Rain. So
Carelessly

It begins
To doubt
Itself.

Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, **** us, **** us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.

Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.

To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.

Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.

Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.

Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).

She spreads her yellow wings
To sun and sky an offering
Gold nectar dew she brings
To Ruby-throat a'humming
Sweet song of waning spring
And lily in the morning.

r ~ 4/6/14

I ride the silence
content

The cats get the Cradle
the beetles get the bread
and the cherry-cheeked children,
the children
all are dead

The world is growing smaller
the Sun is getting hotter
it is all a fault of ours
a fault of ours so faulty
falling gently, screaming, kicking
to the ground
so we give

The cats the Cradle
the beetles get the Bread
and the cherry-cheeked children,
the children
all are dead

Men are exploding
children are smoking–
smoking needles
eating beetles
black and pink
Beatles
The Beatles all are dead
not the legend, just the passion
so instead we give

The cats the Cradle
and the beetles to the bread
and the cherry-cheeked children
the children
all are dead

because the world
turned upside-down
all together, upside down

sons in shoe-heels
lipstick jungles
deep violet secrets
girls in pants
panting
running from understanding caring
claiming you are open-minded
too open-minded to mind
the option
of a closed mind
so instead,
**** the trees for

the cat’s cradle
feed the beetles to the bread
since all the cherry-cheeked children
and their childhood:
all dead.

"They only burn themselves to reach Paradise"
                                       - Mne. Nhu

original courage is good,
motivation be ******,
and if you say they are trained
to feel no pain,
are they
guarenteed this?
is it still not possible
to die for somebody else?

you sophisticates
who lay back and
make statements of explanation,
I have seen the red rose burning
and this means more.

If I were a tree,
I'd be a good tree.