good news in what is now called the energy zone in heaven and was called previously the artichoke under a forgotten prison beneath artichoke in heaven they have recently found forgotten books lost to the world and to heaven for thousands of years. their titles were as follows :


ian of china

life is always to be lived (4 copies only handwritten)
i will always be the husband of beth (chinese 400 copies handwritten)
love will always be my heart (4 copies handwritten)
love will never ever leave our lives (3 copies handwritten)
love is so pretty we want to enjoy it (200 bc 3 copies handwritten)

michael of constantine

all of us together (2 copies handwritten)
life is always life (4 copies handwritten)
treasure is my world (1 copy handwritten)

jim of persia

i am the one you want to love (5 copies handwritten)
love is always what we need (4 copies handwritten)
always always be kind (12 copies handwritten)
love is like a love (7 copies handwritten)
people should be friends (4 copies)
please try to be quiet (4 copies handwritten)
always be attractive if you can (5 copies handwritten)
i want to love my wife and you need to accept that fact (3 copies handwritten.)

the finding of these books gives me more confidence that the poetry i have written this time will survive my death and be remembered and is good news for everyone who loves books. these topics may seem cliched today but when written they were cutting edge of the thinking at that time.

I awoke to a circle shaped chamber made out of some kind of rock and golden wood. My bare feet touched the golden wood floor and my senses activated with delight.

A golden like fine sand kissed the bottoms of my feet with a dreamlike sensation of walking on a heavenly beach.

The rock walls seem more natural.  Felt a bit wet to the touch.  But nonetheless natural.  

Very strange creatures also occupied this Circle chamber in the rock.  

A Peculiar like body orbited the entire circle chamber .  It had long silver white hair and a very small head with green glowing eyes.

Then to the right of me a Mantis like creature with yellow eyes stood so still I  could not tell if it was a statue or a lifeform.  It finally revealed that very answer when it blinked its eyes.  

In front of me on the other side of the circle chamber was a cluster of bubbles and lights.  The bubbles moved about chasing the small little lights like a train.  Never did they pop.

And finally a familiar view but altogether beautiful.  A woman with flowing red hair and deep fiery brown eyes made contact with me.  

Neither of us could speak. But we were still able to hear each others voices somehow.  

We both had the same questions.  

And we both did not have the answers.  

The Mantis like creature then spoke to us in a series of hisses we somehow understood..

It said. "  Welcome to the Boardwalk across the universe."

Not coming out
Spring...
Except through
Your fingers ...
Through Your eyes ...
A rainbow,
arched over rice fields
frogs,
Start croaking...

I Become a mother ...
In A bright Sunny day ...

Illinois cornfield...
too many fireflies at once
too many fireflies...

Oh my little black star!
I know the grooves between your hands...
Smelling you Among my bright motherly clothes
Oh white and free lily,
In my June ...!
The butterfly’s
flaming wings
on the rim of the birdbath...
You are the
  Honeysuckle,
Blooming in the wind ...
You are a fetus,
You have not been
In my femininity
womb ...
O my flesh!
O my spring!
And O beyond my
cadaver...!
Rainbows dancing
Happily...
In the glitter of your eyes ...
Oh, my flower of the moon!

Tones and sounds.
Organized in such a way they create music..

Songs heard through darkness and light..


Tangents and pathways..
Transparent clusters of thoughts and emotions...

Actions viewed through the porthole of the universe...


New stars and galaxies..
And the full dreams of undisturbed sleep..

Galactic access to infinite wonders..

Eyes open and mind set.
I ask myself. " Which is the dream?"

“where summer’s bronzes dull and sink”

the trees are like
wet coat hangers,
holding up the leaves,

my cat is frosty like
an october morn,
sleeping on the sill,

everything is dripping
like a wet pair of
jeans taken out of the wash,

the sky wears its greys
of cloud, dim and dramatic
it opens summer eyes.

the forests of sun
lift their branches to the sky -
a stone fountain's tears.