In my truck
just starting to work
and the man on the radio says

It's 11 minutes before six
on this early Toosdy morning.
You're listening to NPR...

Ahh, fuuuuck says I to my truck,
it's too early for this ****,
another Toosdy staff meeting
and here I am in an ironed shirt
(wearing my RESIST t beneath).

What the hell, everyday is the same,
trains roll on, tracks never end
and tomorrow, Toosdy will be gone
with the wind.

There's a place
Where a radiant sun
Beautifully illuminates and embraces
The rugged contours of a jagged skyline
Before dipping into a gilded horizon
But never forgetting its promise
To return with an enriched fervor again
While an exquisite scythe like moon
shines like the weapon of goddess kali
And drives away the darkness
Not only from the sodden skies
But also from the core of our souls
And the eternal stars flawlessly carve
a splendid intricate tapestry
of flickering constellations
That doesn't seems so far
Light years away
We can touch them
With our heartfelt dreams and desires
That we've buried somewhere along the way
the air still tastes like sweet nectarine
And washes away the agonizing tang
of festering rues and regrets
While the heavenly scent of rubescent flowers
Mingles with a velvety wind
That wafts through a vibrant foliage
And conjures songs so deliriously melodic
Which magically lightens a heavy heart
And gently soothes restless minds
replete with chaotic contemplations
In this place
the crimson flames of sublime love
Never turns livid and blue with hate
Every breath alleviates our despair
It's ethereal ambiance dampens our unease
Let us try to find that place
Before it's too late
Let's go there

you give me waaay too much credit;
u are investment; a great poet,
needing tending and nurture,
watering and encouragement;
since god could not be everywhere,
he made sure many poets exist
to tend
to their fellow's seeds
~~
the problem with seeds
they don't come with a guarantee
from the manufacturee,
or a note from home
for the teacher,
that makes ''my dog et it''
slightly more believable,
each a new babe seedy needy,
crying in the mid of night,
for water and loving attention
as it teethes roots in the soil,
and
the discourteously majority
fail to appear even if you read them
good night moon, nightly

you must plant ten,
hoping one child,
will sprite sprout
and even then,
survive the outrageous misfortunes of  natures
bumps and beaks of the day and night
that lurk about in a
disarmingly charmingly
destructive way

did i say ten?  
idiot.
plant a hundred
just to obtain one germination.

I think the seed guys have
conned us pretty good
the odds
truly ****
as you, the champion children
like to say nowadays,
and **** they are,
too right

sun I cannot control:
water and soil, I can,
for if n'ere to rain,
your seeds will be
well fed,
well read,
and the water,
my eyes will supply
naturally