Cheers to the race that doesn’t have a heart,
No reasons, no morals, no souls, no scruples,
But piles of lies, tons of deeds, all perfectly unabashed and splendidly aghast.

Cheers to their courage to walk unhesitantly in the crowd,
To stand with a stride and to converse with a pride,
And just in case their secrets revealed, to their dignified admittance clear and loud.

Cheers to their score that keep augmenting every day,
To their pleasures, to their amusement emerging from despair,
To their delight, to their bliss, to their ability to rejoice every time one cries in pain and dismay.

Cheers to their shamelessness, cheers to their sins,
Cheers to their disrespect for fellow human beings,
Cheers to the vanished humanity in their souls,
To the way their conscience has drifted in black hole,
And cheers to their skill of turning hearts into stones,
To their abhorring thoughts and to the way they never atone,
Cheers to the way, in this world, they sustain,
Cheers to those monsters, cheers to those beasts, cheers to those incredible demons again.

How wise I am to have instructed the butler
to instruct the first footman to instruct the second
footman to instruct the doorman to order my carriage;
I am about to volunteer a definition of marriage.
Just as I know that there are two Hagens, Walter and Copen,
I know that marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open.
Moreover, just as I am unsure of the difference between
flora and fauna and flotsam and jetsam,
I am quite sure that marriage is the alliance of two people
one of whom never remembers birthdays and the other
never forgetsam,
And he refuses to believe there is a leak in the water pipe or
the gas pipe and she is convinced she is about to asphyxiate
or drown,
And she says Quick get up and get my hairbrushes off the
windowsill, it's raining in, and he replies Oh they're all right,

it's only raining straight down.
That is why marriage is so much more interesting than divorce,
Because it's the only known example of the happy meeting of
the immovable object and the irresistible force.
So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and
combat over everything debatable and combatable,
Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life,
particularly if he has income and she is pattable.

I am a grave poetic hen
That lays poetic eggs
And to enhance my temperament
A little quiet begs.

We make the yolk philosophy,
True beauty the albumen.
And then gum on a shell of form
To make the screed sound human.

Beyod the eclipse of your eyes
I tilted towards the blue horizon
As my thoughts disappeared for a second 
Im blankly out of space 
From head to toe

Illuminated by your gestures
The way you open your mouth
To the way you speak
Im attracted and captivated my electrifying soul
I guess I can't go home for tonight

Turquoise is the brine, deep as ever.
Godheads sink under, to which the void rejects-
all; here is nothing; there, there has been no more-
this is all.

This is still on my playlist
From six months ago
And it brings me back happiness
And it makes me feel slow
And the voice on the recording
Sings me a song
And his voice is deep and soft
And the vibrato is perfect
And I wonder why we don't listen
To Christmas music
All the time
It brings joy
And love
All the time.

you remind me
of the first time i saw a flower

how i

p
       l
   u
                  c
   k
                      e
                    d

each petal
whispering

she loves me
she loves me not

until i had nothing left
but a stem
and a memory

of something beautiful i
destroyed.

(1)
I am the huckster of love, bibulous in love
She is my bijou, she is my billow
She is my Hob-goblin.
                       2
At dead of night she called me
I fell into oblivion
She came off with flying colors
I was impressed by her green eye
She was a pack of lies
I sailed, I sailed under her false colors
I sailed, I sailed under her false colors
                            3
These are the hows and whats of my love
Waiting to pay the debt of nature
Waiting for the call of my creator
Living to write my swan song, living to write my swan song
Expecting to write it ere long, expecting to write it ere long
                             4
I am the huckster of love, bibulous in love
She is my bijou, she is my billow
She is a hob-goblin.

Memories of the mind
Memories of the heart
Heart scars the mind
Mind heals the heart.
Memories age the soul
The soul ages us
With soul, love grows
With memories, age, and soul
We together fade forever

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.