A body is sovereignty.
Everybody is their own king.
Every good king has council.
I am king and my friends are sagacious.
As proud as I am to be
KING
I am much more honored to receive guidance of grand magnitude.
As for the council I give, I say unto my friends:
If you find any essence of good in me squeeze out every last drop.

Use is ecstasy.

O, shapeshifter reveal your truths which have no shape.

O, beast of all beasts: soaring swimming running hopping,
feathered furred scaled shrouded,
naked.
Claws reach for a submerged feast. Tail wriggling, caught by the sky.
Smooth skin hidden by design gracefully opens. Extending,
snatches a meal mid-flight.
Muscle meeting by chance, tooth taking sustenance. Ragged breathe torn
from one body to be worn by the next.
Highly sophisticated eyes become a snack.
Division ceases.

O, reveler!
O, peace in chaos!
O, pleasant reminder of romp!
O, devourer of the devoid,
shaping reality by way of playful lovers!

Take me to the altar and do as you please.
Even on my knees
I can love you as the man I am.
If you alter my person plan to pay fees.
Blood lines down my back
each a token of luck.
The purpose of this poem
is ruckus and ****
but whenever I get close
I think of the people I've ******
up.
My past closes in faster
to the brim of sin.
I can't last as a pastor.
Casting my eyes while preaching some line.
It's culture's downfall as I bind and entwine.
We are powerless to escape our nature in kind.
Pray to a fate blurred
then unearth what we find.

When my sun is hidden, I must rely upon on my moon’s shine.
When my chakra is askew, I must realign.
Learning the things I already knew.
They flew over my head
cause I’m cuckoo.

Wistfully,
I wish I was watching the world from above
on a white flying fortress floating far away from the fauna
and the fickle fools who fight for nothing. Their efforts are fruitless.
Up on my cloud, my cleverness creates cloud-constructs.
These constructs convey to me knowledge both cerebral and celestial.
This sends me higher; to the cosmos.
There, I get caught up in catechisms which force convulsions.
The spinning Sun stares into my silly soul, saying “Such stupidity!”
Scowling, I scorn the stars.
Further still I ascend, astounding the astral plane.
I acquire it all.
And now I know it is
nothing.
Never have my nerves been so wracked.
I weep wildly wishing for when I was waging war
with a woman’s warmth.
Waking up with wet eyes and wounded heart, I stand and walk.
I no longer wonder why.

I am more a warrior than a man.
I chose the pen. I did not choose the hand.
An intention is freedom.
My will will be my leader,
ultimately undefeated:
surrender.