The stone Angel fascinates me
and repulses me
It stands about 8 feet tall in a fountain
Its made of white fake stone
It pees
He wears a gown and has wings
His white hands gather around his middle holding a far too small water jug
Unless your within 2 feet of it
You can't see the little stone jug
It stands at the Corner of Tennessee Avenue and Beech Street here
*******
in front of an ugly little strip mall
I walk by it and we smile together
That Angel and I
I said to it one day," How lucky you are to get to eternally **** on this MayBerry Hell"
He smiled back
He pees as the children play by
As temporary lovers hold hands
He pees as the old people hobble by with their canes
When giving directions, people here actually say,"You know, it's down by where that Angel pees." ***
Sometimes I wish I were he

Come find me at the bottom
of a funeral pyre for the moon
between the hours of death and birth
where we will rearrange the flow of time
and wear eternity on a string around our necks
and we will unlock the forbidden flowers of lust
and paint dreams in the lost colors of impossible love
and find ourselves lost
under the seduction and song
of magic and madness
of the flames
of the funeral pyre
for the moon

Across vast fields
Fortresses and keeps
Below dark waters
And caverns of the deep

Have I ever searched
For one I have not known
Someone or something more
Than what the world has shown

And throughout all my days
Has this search been in vain
From my early years
To when my hair turned grey

Only too late did I realize
That no answer in this world is free
They all come at a price
A price I could not see

Now that the night comes
And my jounrey's course is run
I am no closer to the answers
Than when I had begun

So many years ago

We will falter, they will ****
upon the altar, blood will spill
The blade will fall, and heads will roll
One and all, will sell their souls
Drop your knives, close your eyes,
kiss your lives of peace, goodbye.
Fires falling, buglers calling,
I wish we had more time.

Ever has that spirit wandered
Since forgotten days of yore
Searching for one lost to him
One lost and nevermore

"You know that time--it's different for everyone--when it gets so late that you start laughing at your own terrible humor? When you get buttery?"

"I mean, I'm talking about when you're home alone and making that 1am macaroni and cheese, and one of your precious hairs falls into the near-boiling water... So you quick-as-an-ice-ninja reach down and pluck that piece of blasphemous fiber from your brew of sustenance while shouting 'DANGEROUS PLAYS'"

sigh

"And then you toddle on over to Jell-O Pottery thinking you should sling your half-kneaded clay in people's faces."


"Goodness gracious."