The conservation of energy in full effect,
Energy presses from inside, colliding to outside,
A reflection from inside a metal water fountain
Draws it into the swirling vortex; a clone of myself sitting on a bench,
Bench I'm sitting on, several secluded fibers banked upon a velvetine valentine between the ceiling and floor. (Couch)

The conservation of energy in full effect,
Behind a vent, nestled, relaxing under the speckled water fountain (Couch)

WA-ter FoUNtain,
I'm the grays and the bleak black bland,
In the conservation of energy in full effect.

Xitia:-- Sent you a -whimpering, sent you a-wishing.
I, myself: Into a victory, into admission.

The conservation of energy in full effect.

Xitia:--- Where do you sit in the waterfall of lessons?
I, myself: In the back, to mask the need for the front.

The conservation of energy in full effect.

A humming violin brashly buzzes at first as a bow washes over its strings,
A motif meticulously dreamt from a distance, a daring denouement evaporated into a silent wellspring.

[The Moment]
The violin opens into an ampitheater of heads and legs,
A place where the movement of moments plays itself sideways,
And every open space is a sheet of music sideways, heard but not seen.
Every part and promise is a thing to be heard and well seen.

A face at once, a note sounded, the moment of promises projected on the symphony,
The sounds of want and need have a way of playing and praying in harmony.

In between the crevasse, the edges of *******,
Two boldly jutting stingers perpendicularly putting
A slick gripping upon a slim tantalum cigarette,
A discreet bayonette from weapons that should have kept

Their secrets, saved their wars, retained their scores
To themselves, mourned in their shells, sat in the corners of their skin and bone cells,
Weeping through fingernails.

The acid cannot wave between the lips,
Absorbed, contained inside their grips,
Decidedly encased inside like bottled ships
That cannot sail from inside a deafly, deathly speaking slip.

Those circled, muscled sinking feelings
Driven cold by air, the scarab dealings
Flying flus, thus rabid reelings,
Blades cantankerous on wings revealing.

Bottled, at stop, on gums that go.
Bottled razorlings, at stop, on gums that go.

Ink and rabies flows in our veins. Copper cogs hold our eyes into place, and we can see the undulating liquors flowing like waters in a transparent waterbed, rolling back and forth with gravity.

Ink and rabies flows in our veins. They came with togetherness, in the same pen, passed along, gently, from one hand to another, a friendly enough gesture, cultured, combined, colluded into a single consciousness of tactful inks together, tactful links together, a single solvent.

They were once separate towns...separate people...until Radii Ink and Yuli Rab were together...

How high was a nose meant to go?
Was it meant to reach Mars?
Was it meant to be a ladder to both near and far,
To the way far beyond and the far beyond stars?

How high was a nose meant to go?
Was it meant to be raised up to the sun on a pole?
Was it meant to sniff clouds and those lovely bows,
And breathe comet dust in a breathable boast?

How high was a nose meant to go?
Was it meant as an ornament for onlooking eyes,
Combing and surveying air instead of people passing by,
So the friendliest friends can breathe lovelorn sighs?

Those friendliest friends are the first despised.

How high was a nose meant to go?
The one pointed down will be the one pointed out,
The one smelling the floor will be rejected and fought,
The nose pointed down, broken with blood on the ground.

How high was a nose meant to go?

I lift a silent prayer.
A prayer wordless, in the silence of confusion,
A prayer in contrition, a sentence without locution,
I lift a silent prayer.

In a heart torn every ventricle from every chamber,
One piece thrown to a desert, others in mountains and clouds,
A flood flowing from the aorta to the formations on the right and left,
A request rolls from the winds to Heaven without any sound.

I lift a silent prayer.
Trusting God with the connectors, absconding away thoughts and feelings
To His perfect will and timing,

“I Have Been Tamed”

I have been tamed.
By the white wings and scents of springtime,
A set of shoulders sprinkled with gold,
I’d rest my head and think of silk eyebrows wrinkled together,
Looking out of a window, nestled upon a pair of brown eyes and blonde hair.

I have been tamed.
My joy: my dear, sweet, pure angel.
I love her with unending love.
As long as the rivers wrap around together and surround again on the globe,
As long as there can be love and peace, hope, happiness, and joy.

I have been tamed.
Her feet, tapping and smooth,
Perfect little rhythms, like stones skipping along a pond,
I’m so glad the Good Lord made them to skip and shift.

I have been tamed.
In gleeful wondering, an atollment hugging the thoughts,
Tracing my memories around her,
She left the outline of her hair blowing through the breeze,
Eyebrows lifted like bending fir trees over a pair of brown eyes, slightly smiling lips, and golden blonde hair.




Hair that fights with its surroundings like rolling tigresses, paws drumming over one another through a cloud of sediments,
Sun-bursting hues and radiation, each strand kissing my eyes, an exclusive glow caressing and basking.
I cannot stand to look too long to her nor look away into some distant vision,
Out upon her flowing silks, I left so many thoughts and skills, that I pray to God not to take either of them away.

I wonder if my heart was not made to be tugged and pulled by a woman.
Love, do not forsake me;
It is more blessed by God to give than receive,
But to give love and not receive is painful to the brittleness of my bones.