Forsythia enflamed,
with not yet budded rose,
together in bed,
together they grow.

thorn on bark climbed,
coming of red rose,
but yellow flames,
fell away long ago.

Rose petals,
Become rose hips,
No golden beauty,
His petals slip,
A wedding photo,
a wedding kiss,
Perrenial memories,
They always miss.

And not for him,
She fits into wedding dress,
And not for her he will look his best,
Hot summer and early spring,
Meet and marry with no engagement ring.


Together in bed, they grow old,
hugging in the autumn cold,
no more vain red rose,
no more gold to behold,
Not blooming for bees not blooming for snow,
No blooming for others, nor blooming for show.

Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong

I'm trying to free this masterpiece
that's stuck inside my brain
if it isn't released,
the pressure will make me insane.
So I put my pen to paper
and try to make it flow
but for my inexpertise
there are details I can't show.
The movements of the pen
and traces of the ink
represent what I can do
not what I can think.
So the cartoon scrawl that
lays upon this sheet
simplifies the imagination
that stands upon my feet.

You are nothing less than angels,
with stars falling from sky blue eyes,
darling, keep smiling
while they plot ways to **** you at the round table.
What fools these knights are.
my boy, Liquid wisdom drips from your beard,
you have seen so much more than the world
and it drips, drips,
the world weakens and drips
as your spells against ****** attempts fail,
the world drips and you swing,
you are nothing less than angels.

wrote your name in the sand
watched the waves wash
and take it,

so,

i wrote your name
and all my fears
at the bottom
of a bottle of jack,

I found them every night.

You're in every
Decision i make,
you're in every
sip i take.