at the very bottom of the sun
there lies a cold flame
marching up a babies arm
to reach a newborn face
wailing in the wheel
with cherry cheeks
and the bones
of a brittle bit of Bourbon
on the milk tooth
of an older son
than the Waste
of Time.

Life redeems the thief
and the comet on his tale....
we are just a pinch of unrelenting
Birth.... and any god among Us
must grovel at the feet of our
Oysters... where the pearls
of deadly wishes are born
tongue-tied to the frozen spike
of our glorious
train.
we barrel down the track
of as many stars as there are moons
to blind them.
and have no station
in oblivion, that has No purpose.
We arrive in the speck
of our ascension.... Meant to Be !
And Love is the Word
that invented our peril
from a grain of
Prayers.