When life ***** for an oyster,
It takes the little ******
And enfolds it
With sheen and color
A millimeter layer wrapping
…over, and over, and over…
another millimeter layer.

And then the oyster has a gem.
Too bad I'm not an oyster.

So when life ***** for me,
I take the little ******
And flush it out
With melody and meter
Fortissimo! Ah, no, no, no!
…ancora più, ancora più, ancora più…
Sì, sì, sì, al fortissimo possible!

And now I have a poem.
Too bad oysters don't have ears.

This poem has no greater or deeper meaning,
You'll find no revelation worth even dimes,
No great personal thought or investment,
(Unless you think it needs one. I don't)
But that I quite love dried mangoes
Then, jotting this like scribbles,
I know they won't last long
It seems quite scary...
All shrinking out.
Fade away.
And now
Gone.

Adieu, so I, perchance to dream more deep,
recover pains endured from toils of day,
dive long to briny, deep, subconscious seas,
and grant my friends and jokers to allay
till eyes of mine are pried on random pains
of fated poor and stray crossfire of Chance,
against whose dictates harsh we end our days,
or else, we march the fields of life's expanse.
But stay, be soft, and see the sky not fell,
for blessings stay, if eyes can open still.
This cosmic cog and wheel are not like hell,
that good ones die without Good's echoed will.
Come back again when stars bye to the sun,
when we with hope walk toward the Primal One.

Tonight,
I am posting memos on the dark side of the moon,
where words spewed in wrong states of mind
can be swallowed up
spit up
into black holes
*******
expressions tasting of bile
and last night's ***** twist.
Tonight,
I'm shooting up
on spite and resentment.
Getting blazed,
blitzed,
baked.
Getting blasted off
to outer space.
And no one
can hear me
scream
Tonight,
I'm scribing prayers
and miracles
that would never be worked
if God is the god
that I believe God is.
Lists of hopes penned in anger
and hedonistic impulse
carved over
the memories
of my deep,
penetrating love.
A love that was like
the sword
that Judas fell on
because he had too much
faith
because he had too much
love
to see Love
(that's the god I believe God is).
But tonight,
there is no grace
And God
I am not.

It's there, resounding thru my rattled head
The brazen screech of so turmoil'd a swain,
"If music fails to right the lover's pain,
Then what surfeits the appetite instead?"
It's God's good grace that we like Christ do tread
And know the joy, the crown of Passion's Gain.
I deign to ask to spare the thorny mane
Or peircéd hard with spears of molten lead!
Shall I upon the goal, proceed to feed,
thus relish words and passion of embrace,
for only to retain the monster's place?
Or rather starve the creature, stave its greed?
No answer's fine to satisfy the case
My ego thus must sleep, my will to cede!

Can you see the autumn tree
And also see the woman,
With the hair like a flame and equally wild,
Dancing with the wind?
And can you see the wind                    
And also the gentleman
With the cocky gait that marched him
Through the grassy ballroom?
Can you see her crimson cloak?
The one she wears so dignified,            
So expertly crafted with trims of gold?
Can you feel his cool, cool breath –
Oh, that most subtle charm –
As he glides past your face?
Can you see her stalwart breast?                  
When she breaks his advances?
When she defiantly waves her hand?
Oh, but more beautiful as one than two,
When they give into their passions, irrefutable!
See their sensual tango!
How she strips her autumn cloak.
And his playful fingers swimming.
Can you hear the groans of wood and wind,
Wedded to the sound of church bells!

the social imperative is to
get drunk
ok let's
get drunk
and today
there are so many ways

idlers watch
flickering shadows
of color in boxes

impatient inebriates
burn through
leaf or fuel

innamorati
drown each other
in each other

intelligentsia
drink deep
sophist poetry

not enough
never enough

not to feel the burden
of time and space
two in one
inseparable restraint

to touch what is
beyond
all things in one
Great Name

the divine imperative is to
get drunk
amen let's
get drunk
and to die
to the slavery of any way