With cruelty he loved.
Now, life is measured in rains
Never baptismal.

Doth the Sun not shine upon our life through its many cycles around our home, this ground, we now stand knowingly upon? For ye, there must be many nights withstanding your weakened days. Yet, I see no darkening of the mind to spite these wicked themes of the universe casting clouds across thine only sky. Perhaps a better man, call the rainbow among your kin. I see not a beauty born from damp darkness surrounding. Nay. Thy beauty sprung not from storms ripping through thy soul. Beauty flows from far-reaching caverns over filled with life and truer passion than mine own heart may fathom. Lo, I drown within those seas upon thy face. Drag me to their depths and anchor mine heart among the shells and bones.

so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"

The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"