Drawn to the Sun,

even through the glass,

especially through the glass.


And the glare

from the half-dirt

does it's best to bless me.

Life is fair,

like a flaming moth

is happy.

He walked up the beach,
stopping twice to balance stones.

He found a stretch with no passers-by and had no desire to create.
He thought himself shallow.

"Is it only for another's gaze that I do this?"

He approached the berm, and laid on the warm, uneven stones.
His mind was full, and so,
instead allowed the Sun to judge him.

Even with eyelids shut, could he not deflect It's brightness.

He awaits It's verdict still.

He woke on the ground
and felt the Earth laying paths
in her full revolution.

Pass the sweetened memories yet had.

And in the final moment before lucidity,
an expansive breath found him
basking in the manic love of a thousand sultry muses.

"Fistfulls of locks, and the tangled driven."

Princesses and beggarmaids,
all offer their charities.