Another dawn begins,
Golden fingers of sun seem like
Scribbling the lost map of
El Dorado on your unconscious cheek.
Oh how I like to watch
Every little movement of dream
Behind the sleepiness of your eyelids,
Fading away bit by bit.
Then a deep breath,
Adorable fluttering of eyelashes
Reveals your awakened irises.
And I feel being welcomed again
Inside that sacred cave,
Where I found the desired key
Of fruitfulness last night.

been awhile
but no matter,
boots look best
when resting
on legs extended
on a summer's afternoon
looking down on
water boats, dogs by the side,
your sleepy hollow in
my appreciative heart

for I know there is soul
in brevity,
and that ain't exactly
my finest quality

but you sir,
archival historian
of moments of man's choices,
and with noisy metal detector,
reflect on the belts and buckles uncovered
from long ago wars by which you
capture my devoted attention

they say the north won the war,
by amassing more and more
and wearing down their brothers
but I know different

r
you listening,
to you I accede,
to your fewer words,
join in happy secession,
and see us all through
with your briefs on the
human condition

1378

His Heart was darker than the starless night
For that there is a morn
But in this black Receptacle
Can be no Bode of Dawn

Buying a car, driving, that's a privilege,
Owning a gun is a right,
So why is it that we all had the "fair right"
To free marriage, it wasn't for gays to decide?
It's strange how you could get a gun,
Purchase it with little concern for WHY,
Or where you intended to use, or if you'd
Had a mentally unstable mind,
But yet if you wanted to obtain a marriage,
You'd have to show them you were "in the right,"
Indeed this was never a free country until JUSTICE
Was finally done over such a great amount of time.

It ends with a scream.
A scream that echoes across the entire city.
She doesn’t sink to her knees.
She collapses.
It’s not beautiful.
It’s heartbreaking and raw.

the mortals have found a new god.
our strength is wavering,
flickering,
soon to be extinguished.
like a forgotten match,
left to burn.
our souls ignite into an uncontrollable fire.
ruined temples and desecrated graves.
destruction follows them,
like flames licking at the remnants of an old age
as the ash settles around us.
burn them all.

Oh, Prue she has a patient man,
  And Joan a gentle lover,
And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—
  But my true love’s a rover!

Mig, her man’s as good as cheese
  And honest as a briar,
Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,—
  But my dear lad’s a liar!

Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha
  Are thick with Mig and Joan!
They bite their threads and shake their heads
  And gnaw my name like a bone;

And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man,
  As never snaps me up,”

And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,
  Could live content in a cup,”

Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell—
  All one color, and clear—
And Mig’s no call to think at all
  What’s to come next year,

While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,
  That’s troubled with that and this;—
But they all would give the life they live
  For a look from the man I kiss!

Cold he slants his eyes about,
  And few enough’s his choice,—
Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,
  Or a beggar with knots in her voice,—

And Agatha will turn awake
  While her good man sleeps sound,
And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue
  Will hear the clock strike round,

For Prue she has a patient man,
  As asks not when or why,

And Mig and Sue have naught to do
  But peep who’s passing by,

Joan is paired with a putterer
  That bastes and tastes and salts,
And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—
  But my true love is false!