how are you this mad? from where comes your explicit wreck ?
are you undone ? if so, let me show the way to another trouble
to keep at your breast. let me reveal the vista
and the void.... to console your tremors in the meek nightness
of your unfortunate soul.
i love you.
and loving you is nothing more than nothingness.
but you dream of hate and cinders.
full tilt boogie with that shadow
but never mine
at last.

never mine at all.

what figure my father has
bends for the beauty
not of word but of word
unsaid.

as for intended use,
there are two ways
to stone
a raindrop.

some would argue
from hell
for recognition
of non
survivor’s
guilt, and from earth

for mothered

figures…

This proverbial palace of pen
And paper has room for
Exactly as many as
We are.
Together.
People of Parchment, welcome.
Move in.

Poem has room for your every letter,
Each one of your feelings, all
Pleasure; all hurt.
It's diary, -hallways that go on
Forever-
That you can explore in your mind,
It is birth

Of things that you love, that you see
Your own features in.
Thoughts fit for sharing with minds
Like your own.
It's channel for channeling, channel
For handling the things that arise,
You are never alone.

It's words to the pictures of love
That you witnessed, it's tellings of
Hardships you had
To withstand.
It's more discriptive of lust and of
Pleasure than movies you watch in
The dark with
Your hand.

The Palace of Poem has room for
Each poet. The doors are unlocked,
See the sign: "Vacancy."
Interiour's custom, your personal
Taste as design, and don't ask:  
It is perfectly free.

In here there's no grown-ups,
We're children; just taller.
No bedtime, no said time to eat or
Come home.
In here you can choose to create
When you're crying, or laughing or
Tickled or cut to the bone.
-
It's a palace fit for the Kings and
Queens of Expression
That truly live in your
Every
Mirror.