by each contour
by every way
my tongue
burns
rolls
your
kisses, and
shatters the world.

Understudy,
you fathom deeper
wetter
just to be better

bouncing below
your grey outlines
filed down by the times

one criticism! done Ruthlessly,
gets to you, but you know what
would be a better telling

and you're not wasting
all that good talent,
to be saved.

called to practice, poetry is like a war machine
living in the trenches.

building the front line looming
giving into its generation, it is.

a one cause of structure.

a shadow
is rejoiced when it fades
given it a right to the gloom
coming in in all directions
normally unmagnificent
  it plays and blows with kisses,
to drive the after light away!
and with doing so
made it different.

I am sorry, to forgive  
who moved your flower
to push your knees apart to know.

in thy choir, I wrote to kneel-
When we met in thy vespers hour -

and in the between
your feasts were great
and we kissed  the greats of choir.

I left not one wounded man behind.
toward the darkness of notes I go.

like ask me later

girls are like people
people are good
but good people
like good girls
now, they are hard to find.

shake if you
like that 8!

liked maybe
their game of chess
is a good game
but good chess players
hardly I can find,
to be bad at playing.

shake it
are you're still there
like Magic 8?

liked people
good at chess,
tend to be lousy at life
unliked people lousy at chess,
tend to be good in life.

is it like that Magic 8?

like me, I bet you will be
good at chess
and still looking for
another lousy player at life
to be bad with.

Yes,
it's liked like that!

To love,
To hope,
To these fire ambers,
And to all the
kelly green
For my love,
I left you there,
In Ireland.

There are two types of men,
Who pass me bye:
And those women with
Their babies
On their arms.
They were either beasts of the field
Or fools for the aire,
Crossing the sea –
Burning their own house down –

And to the time, we took them in
And to the time, we took to notice them
And to that runaway train
We began
We were armed on the line
at the stone church.

To our Irish grandparents
who Did too, on the old homestead
So none could go live there ever again.
And a black bird sad
Sang to the dead at night
We all were just waiting for
That moment again, to arise.

So here comes Johnny walker
And here he comes waling at these walls
Going about, walking about or
On a walk about…

If rather go walking
than to the front-line?
With these red stained linens
With lions and for our some crown
go Broken, for that is the only way home!

like that there: in Ireland…
like A cashbox in the field we just found!

To coffee shop, The danish, laughs
You’re not mad,You’re just dieing
Your own stomach;
can't even understand what you mean.

For you, Who disappeared, today?
‘To be’ is a rarity,
And as a non-believer,
This life is just random.

To the coffee shop danish,
Who didn’t show up For work , today
In those silk stockings
Just to stock the coffee,
There is One less, on the streets
To go lording.

We don’t Stop them from living
Nor step aside for them dying
To stain your smock with their colors
When your being ordered.

the day old screams
On her privately.

I am the light or space within that complexity
that took shape as a kiss.

I am the apple we present to the world
as not the only power at work within us.

This truth is in the telling.

to what I don't know-what you don't know
     and to that I raised my hand;

to two- I don't know too; and with that
    I came to believe to know what you do.

Working on all that money.
but for most the parts forsaken;
from the gold standard drew
and His new line changes
each day, closed with drumming.