Whoever wants to
serve themselves can go on an drink
from the sea.

Its Common Logic
There Is Not Much Sound In Space
Where Was The Big Bang

If you felt the fires of love,
mule-driver,

you would make more haste to see Venus.
I love a charming boy;

I ask you,
goad the mules;

let’s go.
Take me to Pompeii,

where love is sweet.
You are mine…

"I don't know
what to do
anymore," I said,
between hits of
concentrated cancer and
a constant supply of
countenance.

You were there,
and you were
sharing the smoke
with me. Like
a long lost
brother, you sat
close.

"No ****." You
said,  with the
smoke passing through
the screen window.
"We're both equally
killing ourselves." She
added, and it
was the truth
laced with nicotine.

"I'm so lost,"
I said, with
my head resting
on the window,
as she passes
the cigarette to
me.

"You of all
people should know
that."

I'm holding the
cigarette like a
drunk mother holds
both her child
and the toilet
bowl. I'm holding
the cigarette like
it might save
my life.

Her mother screams,
"You better not
be smoking up
there!"

Well He Was The Air
I Was Asphyxiated
We Were Better Off

dont cry,
please,
be comforted.

pure and unblemished,
like a humble
sacred object.

Here lies Maerius Lee,
she lived to be 103.
She kept her virginity till she was 15
She was very good for this vicinity.

It's been so hard to
die, but now, I've been looking
for a means to live.

I shouldn't of told
you that I couldn't live without you,
because I'm still here.

If anyone does not believe in Venus,
they should gaze at my girl friend.

Oh,
you creature!
Will you be content?
Overcome,
he was content.
At least,
falling into a deep dark pit.

He was gone.
And won’t come back.
It was early,
but he reached very still,
then seemed to disappear in a wave of
sadness and heart-rending care.

In the days that followed,
divided between happiness and unhappiness,
hope and fear,
he realized now that living,
was indeed,
difficult.

He became aware.

He
'tidied himself up'
so he could see too much of the particular
routine.

But I am breaking,
I must leave. It was our faults.
But please, don’t help me.

Let water wash your feet clean
and a slave wipe them dry;

let a cloth cover the couch;
take care of our linens.

The weeds
sunk in the Earth.
The entrance,
disguised by tangles of flowering
eyes.
Something
might be
even clearer.
He considered leaving.

You felt heavy.
So tearful and red in the face.
In such a mess.
You don’t mean any of this.
It’s wild words.
You are just not a violent person.
You've simply got to live.
Be what you really like.
You've got to bear it.
There’s so much suffering in the wold, awful senseless insoluble suffering.
Your suffering has sense, if you go on.
And even if sometimes it feels like pretending, it can heal.
It can heal you.
And it won't be pretense because it’s the only way, and the only true way.
If you start hurting people and smashing things every sort of anger and chaos and lies will follow.
You can’t be violent.
You can’t be violent.