What I'm doing is stupid
I wish I could stop

Love a girl who writes,
          and live her many lives;
          you have yet to find her,
          beneath her words of guise.

Kiss her blue inked fingers,
          forgive the pens they marked.
          The stain of your lips upon her—
          the one she can't discard

Forget her tattered memories,
           or the pages others took;
           you are her ever after—
           the hero of her book.

far from the crowd
a child sits with God
both are elated
filled with life
green grass and daisies

swelling with life
horizons are elongating
I dive into your want
resurfacing with a pearl

the beautiful wind will accompany this night
she turns up unexpected and always welcome
blows around the house anything not nailed down
her playful ways belie her power a gentle child of the universe

Languishing in a car called desire,
reclining into another lustful thought,
drink the poison and do it clean
for in such things are religions made
or a nation crumbled into to dust