.It's 4 a.m.A hotelbibleisspreading thegood newsto a local wino,as ***** childrenof intimatestrangers areplaying X Boxwith addicts.A young girlis learning toinhaleup on thegravel rooftop,scribing poetryon her armin the sparsemoonlight.Razor writingis sucha wasteof type O..

.
Origami rhythm
folds within his soul.
Thundering horses
came before the rain,
as merry-go-round melodies
skip across the sea.
His concept of desolation
changed with the wind,
with the eclipse of the eagle.






.

.I felt a little strangewith binoculars in handon a warmWednesday morning,a mild breezetussling your curtains.I watched you with aschoolboy fascinationas you tookyour clothes offof the clothesline.Oh! the basketful of storiesyou draggedin through your door.Were yougoing out dancing?To the store?Your prettiestdress sparkledin the sun's lightand it made me think.Yeah.That's what Ilike about you--You make methink..

.
His breathing fell silent as the unborn child...

***** by reality as his jaw fell toward his feet--
His eyes, ***** windows in a ***** world.

Magazines with wet rings from
sweaty brown Bud Light bottles as
pride slithered down dry throats,
and dead eyes were ceasing to see.

Olympus tossed my good
intentions
tied to an anchor
to the bottom
of the sea,
and Poseidon just blows bubbles.

How can he see me with his eyes closed?






.

. The pulse of least resistancelies hidden within the seed.Music makes each moment rise,fulfilling wavelengths' deed.The mighty beasts of ancient dayscast down a noble's heart.Unobtrusive in the end,yet, to end is but to start.Fused with atomic energy,and hopeful honest light;the prophets sought the living cave,the skies prepared to fight.Open-hearted ancient wayshave slain the kingly foe.New life burst forth from simple seed...the seed that we let grow..