The flame is beautiful when it burns bright,
Even when it’s not, embers can bring it back to life.

Unraveling one’s fable seems foreign tongues,
Jack Frost’s breath will chill the lungs.

All that’s needed has been provided,
What happens next is still undecided.

Whether frozen on the steps of a burning palace,
Or with exceptional family but seeing only the malice.

Everything can change with the strike of a match,
Any arsonist can tell you that.

So sell the matches, or let them burn,
Warm the fingers, ‘cause nothing is earned

Mother’s face in the stars above,
Who never took flight in the form of a dove

Then it happens, numbing cold trickles in,
Much too soon, the last year’s come to an end.

What I would have done,
For you.

A quiet knocking on the door,
A quiet rapping through the floor
A quiet voice sweet and soft
Growing louder, hard to ignore.

I hide under the sheets,
Terror fleeting,
Numb and unprepared,
Even as I know I must,
I twist and turn and-
I can’t hold back
My life will change

I tried to close the door,
To stifle that tapping under that floor-
I guarded my heart
But walls and sheets are closing fast
None of this safety can last

I know I must turn
So many moments pushing through
My entire future, fading past
I know what I must do,
I must go with you.

I know what we will be
I will change for you
I cannot be free
It will never again just be me
I would do anything to protect you
Change my life to be with you

But as I reach-
As I tell you what I will do
What this love is that I feel for you

Suddenly jaded, crushed and worn
Bearing under that deep, rank well of guilt
You are pulled away
Screaming and tearing

A darkening wave of blood- and so many tears
Every single one of my worst fears
Sad, sick and twisted turn of fate
I wasn’t ready for you
And now I’m much, much too late.

They tell me I couldn’t have stopped it,
I couldn’t have protected you.
“I need to feel in order to heal”
But there is no knocking on the door,
No quiet rapping through the floor.
Nothing…. no quiet voice,
                      No one is asking anymore.

woman you are sensuous
woman you are lovely,
you are earth-mother,
like water-slickened clay
beneath my hands
give way to me, yes,
be my chalice,
be my sheathe,
let me fill you up
let me make you whole--
look at my fingerprints
on your hips,
on your thighs,
see how good you are
for me, yes,
so good, babe, so good--
don't you like it, yes,
don't you want it, yes,
woman you are sensuous
woman you are lovely.

Don’t Find the Time to Hide
To Hide From Life
From Your Responsibilities,
Your Wants
Dreams

Don’t Find Time To Stop
To Stop and to Doubt
And To Lie
To Cheat
Question

Don’t Find Time To Suppress
To Suppress Your Creativity
And Your Skills
Your Intelligence
Emotion

Don’t Find Time.
To Let Others Hold You Back
To Let Others Restrict You
To Let Yourself Doubt You
To Let Yourself Change You

Stay You,
And Stay Yourself.

I stumble home
a drunken drone
a woman walks beside me

she overtakes
I slow my pace
she clip clops
down a sideway

I turn to
I wet my shoe
I here the sound of trickling

There she squats
in ripped pop socks
on my doorstep she is *******

The ice cold chocolate milkshake and the longstanding dichotomy of poet philosopher , musician and painter
Socrates would make a point as to it's rightful owner , questioning whether or not it was even a cold , sweet drink
Dylan would make it the focal point of a tune about a small town eatery
Picasso would paint a story of deliciousness mired in loneliness
Randolph would pick it up with both hands and gulp it down

Captured features of a dangerous creature named love; claims to be heavenly, the sudden sweet melody/
it burns hotter than fire, keeps you awake at night so all day you're left tired; exhaustion sets in as it takes control of our breath and presses play./
be careful as it takes it to the extreme, conceal and conceive every daydream; reveals defeat, an elite routine breaking the beams of the highest built barriers/
i don't know what can be scarier, keeping sanity forever or reliance on another soul; a casual casualty disguised as a masterpiece, a skillfully hidden tragedy/
no flaws in the strategy, the audacity for the ego to stare back from the vanity, must be royalty; hidden from her majesty/
a calamity hastily crafted from fantasy; going against my nature a heart in catastrophe. Hateful happy analogy practically a mortality/
nothing promises compatibility, temporarily the center of gravity. not a false start, proof for the fact its lost art/
understandably i found it myself lost in a spiral galaxy. naturally searching for relief; tie a rope and release/
taken to extremes are just what i perceive, bittersweet agony is all that i can see..

Boris was very good here
Peaches are mean cannibals
Wasabi rainbow

"I love you."











*April fools.