Walking in the cleansing rain
Washing all the ***** pain

Breathing in the crisp night air
Curing all the worldly care

Smelling midnight watery flower
Embracing all the ****** power

Watching lightening crack the sky
Losing the feeling I will die

I want the words to flutter through
In an almost mutter
To be understood by few

I want to give off a vibe
That inspires a dislike
Of every line

A discomfort
In every rhyme

A malignancy
That encompasses time

I want to touch shoulders
Merging minds
Just to watch us
Crumble in mine

I want humbled in kind
With the view from outside
The box

Red.
The color of love,
it's said.
Red.
On the head,
Of an Irish thorough-bred.
Red.
Sinking ships,
Painted brightly on young girls' lips.
Red,
I'm led,
Where leaves in your color,
Scatter a creek bed.
Red.
Can't I wear you when I'm wed?
You say much more than the white gown,
I dread.
Red.
The petals on my bed.
The passion.
The love.
The words unsaid.

The wandering minstrel,
sung a song that kept hidden,
deep in his lonely heart,
it touched the dancing girl so much,
she sprang up on her feet unprompted,
and danced the way the song spoke to her.

Oh! it was marvelous and she was swift
like a lightening during monsoon,
there was a subtle absence that heightened her presence,
her admirers, a whole lot, was caught by surprise,
strangely, they got agitated,
as her move was unexpected,
that stirred a hornet's nest
which, then  led to a melee of sorts,
every one was running helter- skelter,
while the whirlwind swirled around,
the girl still danced like possessed.

Only now they saw the Dervish,
with long white hair and flowing dress,
while he gently circled, his aura bright
created a dazzling circle of light.
It became difficult to see what happens,
to most, without the inner light.

**To the few with opened inner eyes
it was revealed at once thus:
the swirling dervish, the ecstatic dancer
and the wandering minstrel lost in  his song
went beyond,
became one in spirit.

Heathens -
in heaven's lobby
flock
to barter
for Magic 'Shrooms
with pop rocks... and pancakes
and leaf-green brownies.
new to the scene;
the Son of Man
holds a motley court,
then wanders off
to fetch Picasso - Lassoed
from his cups, his Love that must Love
his genius... doubtless,
cloud-scrawling
huge pendulous *******
in Elysium; for no one at all.
better Pablo
should tend bars      that set mobs free
than one god's toddler, with long odds
against Bacchus - should ever
small-talk-speak
to the godless
or worse...
preach.

" Better Sins to love.. " The Spaniard once taught...
A Lover's Urge is born in forms of weakness.... adorned in all Might -
bathed in blessed contradiction,
a Lingam for a Yoni's dream of stiff drinks
and pliable men, with strong arms.
a blue fiction  on Calvary -
nailed to the softest
cross.

Between thieves,
an honor, double
parked

with bucket seats brimming with moonlight,
and her knickers
tossed.

Picasso asks for absinthe
to be sent
post haste
and polished off -
by all
his better angels he had guillotined
with dull snails,
and fallen  
harps

ones -  he stole,  to de-tune
a flat fifth of Cuttysark
for a deaf
****,  [but no mute ]
a portrait, ****
and is soon
bought...

lust
sleeps then -
with both Eyes;  
Locked on
One of
God's.

like a deer
in a Head-light's
Gospel...
now, a Minotaur on the
Autobahn -
stalking
it.


II

Heathens
in heaven's lobby
recite ' Howl '
as Ginsberg, walks over hot coals
and spicy psalms; glowing wanton
in white grass; with a very
cherry ****.
And a wise throng, cobbles...
****** -
they rob
Peter of his  toga,
leaving nothing wrong.
but no less ' On '
they laugh hard;  and wake the dead
asking  them for new songs
to set    their false alarms
in lofty Tic' Tocks  
of Eternity's
clock.
Bible on a snooze bar
for at least that long
or  someone
knocks.

As if  "Hello."  
Spoke the Whole World into Being -
And " Goodbye."
misspoke, and
trailed
off...