I'm a champagne bottle
Brimming with an explosion
That bursts forth;
Three AM, no warning.

Shrapnel.

Get a coffee
Light up a cigarette
Write
Get published
Become famous
Get bored
Write again
Write again
Get more bored
Write, write, write
About boredom
Become miserable
Write
About misery.

Die famous
But miserable...


-- Eleanor

& now I know we share Oscar Peterson in common
I want to love you all the more,
till the world ends
Let our beloved rain fall
Let our days howl of our Ginsberg
Plath, Eliot & Dylan
& others, more obscure
Let us buy that Edward Hopper
we both love
& let us sleep in your car
out on the Yorkshire Moors
You're the milk in my coffee
Let me be the billboard
you advertize our love on
lets be breathless metaphors
of each other
the quotation marks
around each others words
high on the ******* of stars
& always read
each others poems
drag each other to open mics
& drink too much
let's make Cupid jealous
of the fiery arrows
we use to stab
one another
if it doesn't work out
& make the Angels
jealous of our heaven
if it does
lets be a restless breeze
that blows
through the world
& stirs each leaf
with our words
lets just be us
fellow hermit
fellow poet
Soulmate
that's
the word

1081

Superiority to Fate
Is difficult to gain
’Tis not conferred of Any
But possible to earn

A pittance at a time
Until to Her surprise
The Soul with strict economy
Subsist till Paradise.

You remind me of the earth,
   like deep burnt umber woodlands
mid downpours' fresh aroma
       & spring's foliage lushly reborn,
twinkling explosive pinpoints
       grazing beyond dark ether,
  sparkles dappling 'pon depths
        of eternal seascapes's nature,
amidst breath of relentless airy winds
    gusting above her majesty's hazes
       beyond purple mountain's apex
and streams of meadows' wildflowers in
  deftly painted horizons after moonbows,
vivid consciousness' uttermost reminisce
   of all things recollected in the long ago
        essence of your memories' presence

you were my january, new and fresh, waiting and eager

you were my february, lovely and red, short and sweet

you were my march, long and gruesome, grey and heavy

you were my april, clean and damp, lively and green

you were my may, blooming and new, wispy and pale

you were my june, loved and fiery, hazy and breezy

you were my july, red and blue, revered and bright

you were my august, muggy and sweaty, sticky and hot

you were my september, dreaded and anticipated, stressful and hectic

you were my november, chilly and windy, biting and thankful

you were my december, merry and cheery, pining and frigid

but most of all,

you were a year wasted.

1058

Bloom—is Result—to meet a Flower
And casually glance
Would scarcely cause one to suspect
The minor Circumstance

Assisting in the Bright Affair
So intricately done
Then offered as a Butterfly
To the Meridian—

To pack the Bud—oppose the Worm—
Obtain its right of Dew—
Adjust the Heat—elude the Wind—
Escape the prowling Bee

Great Nature not to disappoint
Awaiting Her that Day—
To be a Flower, is profound
Responsibility—