If you aren't proud to be my girl in front of the world
                   I'll still be your ***** little secrert
      but know my heart is not fit            so  when you hurl it
           be not afraid it may break on  whateva it hits
              as surely already't shall be long broken to bits.
                               An affair wants to spill,
                                                 to share of its glory
                               as a Lioness shares her ****,
                                                  Or an author his story
                 No act is so private it does not seek applause.
               True love seeks the ALL & knowest time doth not pause  
                                        so as a consiquence
                Passion never shys from standing up for this cause
                              uplifting the object you desire                    Human flaws and Awe
         Ghouls shant go hating on her without those fools hating him
         and right or wrong and vice versa each other they ever defend
             'Else Love becomes a shadow of what it could have been                                  
                                       Not even if 'twere to never heard of such things  
                                                      however unbeknowest     t'will still be a sin
                           if in this dark world         Love's Light isn't unfurled
                          if dead creeps into beauty   &   darkness roots its way back in.
                                                  best we  be Happiest now intact with our Love there in
                                          so for once instead it's the 'morrow that can't wait to see us again.

I grew up traditional
Conservative Christian
The beauty of women
Was intellectually pounded into me
You are the pinnacle
Much of that made it to my heart
I sit in awe of your beauty
In contrast to that of a canyon
Or a snow-laden mountain

You are the living embodiment
Of the best all creation can produce







Unless you're a *****

Pursue anxieties through the arches
Grand clothes, in all, proscenium
Marks the flesh of fiction of which
We wear in pride and tears, breaking
At whimsy the sacred real. Born in
That repetition, the rebel who rips
With rage and striking tongue solidity
All to null. We hold the soul of the earth
In balance just as we know every second
And intense authority, conscious of the body
To mold the putty of your lives.
Absurd boheme! But this magician
This contradiction with no delusion of self
As close as any man may get therefore
To perfection in our nihil.
Running, running all alongside
The misted face of high Olympus
And greatly gathering elements
And crafting, as any god to waltz
In history and awe, Absolute from
Absolute None.
Meet us when, meet us when
All the words like leaves do die
We’ll leave you with the seed of it
From drama comes drama
To drama it will go.

Stiff-spined pigs clawing at shins,
thighs, torso; arms and head.
Effervescent atoms spit
from pressurised cans
to clouded, burning eyes.
Batons drop, judging
my ever rolling sins;
breaking bland sheet
of skin into blue, black,
red, swelling  purple canvas:
mounds of flesh,
batted time and time again.
Arm twisted, mud faced being, sinking.
Face first dirt. Cuffed, bony wrists
annoy broken-back shoulders:
unforeseen angles.
Frustrated muscles stretch
bemused tendons.
Freedom demolished,
kicking screams provoke
further chest knocks,
ambushed four to one
your body flops;
sagging over tight-gripped,
blue and black jackets,
helmets, batons, badges.
Tossed to the backseat;
prisoner of the siren.

I wonder who we are,
who I am.
if I am we, then what is they?
Are we stardust collections? Are they?
Perhaps, perhaps not.
Maybe the better question is not what we are,
but what we do.