beautiful green mesh
of a garden full of
mint.
a thick snowy web
gently tops the tall,
fragrant mint—
never thinking where this
dewy web derived from.

i suddenly spotted the source.
how could something so
grotesque
so ghastly
create something so beautiful
such as this web?

thick body, thick octet set of legs
perched
and ready
for something.

maybe
when it dies
the vermin
could possibly redeem itself
because of the
snowy, dewy web
(a home)
it made in the green
meshy garden of mint.

Lay me down to rest
Between velvet sheets
shut my eyes with rose petals.
Adorn my neck with jewels
Lay my hands together
One on top of the other.
In my favorite dress
Absolute still silence
make it cosy and warm.
Spray my favorite scent
Like paradise upon my skin
And watch me sleep.

I stumble through briars and thorns
I cannot see clear anymore
Although I hear whispers, which might be your call
I cannot believe you would want me at all
My footsteps lessen and halt
My head does not know where to go
Although I hear sirens, which could be for me
Their search is unfruitful as it ever could be
I fall in a small trench and cave
I think I have broken my leg
Although I hear songbirds, which could mean daylight
I have no new hope as I once thought that I might

the released energy
          of laughing aloud
the exuberant freedom
          of joking with friends
the pleasant surprise
          of somebody's care
the shared love
          of endless interests
the glowing shine
          of eyes lit with joy
the beautiful warmth
          of being wanted
the trivial words
          of such meaningful chat
the gorgeous look
          of a beaming smile
the hard-to-find charm
          of a friend such as you

A barbaric thing, winter’s price
The crude symphony of blood and ice
Through cataract windshields
Behold barren fields
In the grip of evening’s womb
Listen for the hangman’s loom
Forever weaving, weaving
But do not speak of leaving
Towards a melancholy freedom
Liberty to and liberty from
Run towards the sea,
Away from land’s fee—
And know that winter follows
Felt deep in the hollows
Of lung and bone
And in the silent moan
Between each leafless tree
Only winter alone is free

Aimless devotion to discontent deities**
sacrificial offerings crucial for good juju
Altar boys and pages kissing feet for wages
Praying to relics
punishing heretics
Burning,knifing,shooting
Oh for the love of god!
Don't believe
Do believe
Maybe just for acceptance
Penance repentance
Breed a way of thinking
and get many precious berries

I will be happy or I won't
I will succeed or I shan't
but I'll be ****** if I don't try
and if you dare to ask me why
I'll tell you time is on my side

And I have had just enough to know
that I'll have more to reach and grow
and in the end, it's all the same
for we all die early.

I will be happy or I won't
on that day I see the end
I will have a final answer
that my life will build and mend.

But for now I'm glad to know
Oh Lord, it is good to know
that time will always be on my side.

I will be happy or I won't
but I'll be ****** if I don't try.

Imagine.
Imagine the cruelty in the world.
Imagine that you are a Jew in a concentration camp, being led to a mass grave.  You’re forced down on your knees, gun on your head, and they fire.  There was a blank in the gun.  You find yourself among your peers, their bodies dead and thin and cold.
Imagine.
Imagine the love in the world.
Imagine your new baby girl.  She’s wrapped up in your arms, staring at your, she fills her lungs, and screams.  Is it possible to love someone so much that even when they scream, you love them?  Over the years, waking up early, feeding her at midnight, consoling her over heartbreak, walking her down the aisle when she finally finds someone!
Imagine.
Imagine how many people have been robbed of that love because of the cruelty on earth.
Imagine that you were one of those 3 million Jews, and you never got to see your baby girl, in your arms, gently sleeping.
Imagine what each one of us can do by spreading love and not hate.
Imagine.

What can I do with this bayonet?
Make a rose bush of it?
Poke it into the moon?
Shave my legs with its silver?
Spear a goldfish?
No. No.

It was made
in my dream
for you.
My eyes were closed.
I was curled fetally
and yet I held a bayonet
that was for the earth of your stomach.
The belly button singing its puzzle.
The intestines winding like alpine roads.
It was made to enter you
as you have entered me
and to cut the daylight into you
and let out your buried heartland,
to let out the spoon you have fed me with,
to let out the bird that said *******,
to carve him onto a sculpture until he is white
and I could put him on a shelf,
an object unthinking as a stone,
but with all the vibrations
of a crucifix.