.


Having escaped his
dank and desolate amniotic enclosure,
the devil's milk became an ebony arterial spray
dripping like warm wax down a gold-leaf candlestick.

He'll give you an inch, and take your smile...

He's a wildflower among the thorn,
with ripe lies plump for the picking,
with a heavy and pungent ripeness;
haunting, fleshy apricots with poisonous pits.

--Coolness to a burning throat,
oozing with crisp copper mockery.

He'll give you an inch, and take your smile...

Treat or Trick?







.

.sweet cherry blossomlosing their power to clingpaints an old man's sky.

.
She is
his morbid distraction.
She's the bullet in his gun
and she's looking for some action.

More than death she longs
to become his blessed bride,
the two will become one
the day she steps inside.

And she gets very tired
walking through the Arctic rains,
but she will pick up speed
when she's running through his veins.

She is
his morbid distraction.
She's the bullet in his gun
and she's looking for some action.





.

.
I peek through the keyhole
and try to smell
freedom drifting on a steel breeze--

My window vibrates with distant echos of laughter
and the lone moan of a rusted lawn mower.

The cool, trickling creek is once again hidden
by the emerging tender leaf.
Silver quivering shards of light
come shooting faster than bullets and
raucously ricochet around my room.

Gravity works on the melting snow on the distant mountains,
little rivulets race to satiate the wild flowers in the valley.

--If you open my door, I will go there with you.





.

.


In my mind I pull a blank--


The blank  comes  from a  
piece of paper, like point blank
from the barrel of your gun.

My platinum crucifix starts to twist.
It warmed slowly against my chest,
while sunbeams turns into starlight
on the popcorn ceiling--


I just pulled another blank!






.

.Soft confusion doth a great poem make.Poetry was born in the circus of the mind.Chaotic modern subconscious expression shaped our world.Surreal boulevards peopled with poets.Critics act as stop lights,although I don't stop untilthe thought's been driven home.Reality stones the muse, sadness levitates the quill.Welcome to the strange streets.

.
thunderstorms and rainbows-


a delicate rose in bloom
pools on brick and daffodils--

sunshine lighting my room

red knee highs and a cotton dress
a beggar bums some cash--

the answers to life are in the puddles
it's up to you to make the splash.




.

.
Can you see the path
I've made to the stars?
Where moonlight defines
a very good night,
where the moon's fury spills
her soft silver light
over twenty million poets
all at once.
I walk barefoot upon
the stars.
I write of gentle revolutions,
Saturn turns out to be
my best friend.
My pathway leads back behind
the sparkling pools of Neptune,
the pools much more blue than
its' dense methane skies.
As I sit beneath this tree
of Paradise,
I
wish YOU were here.



.

.
~His eyes are in the palm of his hand,
the sky is in his mind.
He wants to find new colors--

Who knows what he will find?

The wind is on the front porch,
the dog's mouth is quick to foam.
A tornado suddenly blows you away--

a long, long way from home.

Kansas is gone-
the Tinman said,
as the poppy fields
donned a million head.

A crimson explosion-
a juicy, ripe plum;
and a peace pipe full
of *****.

John, George, and Paul
were comfortably numb.
Poor Ringo got a blister
on his drumming thumb.

This day could not
have been any more fun,
when Paul proved,
"Happiness WAS a warm gun."~








.

.




Even in your eyes,
the malignancy took a bite.
It's eaten all your dreams,
and has you walking toward the light.

Now your pretty painted smile is
the only thing deceivin'.
Your pain has burrowed to the bone,
still there's nobody you'll believe in.

So when they slam the lid
at your tolling knell,
it is as simple
as ringing a bell.

To the novice unbeliever
I am the reaper of souls,
and you are the one
for whom the knell tolls.

Forever I have waited for you to turn blue,
now I have your permanent seal.
Just for the record, which lie did you buy
to make you believe that He wasn't real?






.

.Womb paintings-merging delicate layers--of love and darkness.The water's warmthnourishesthe arousal of creativity.Restlessness mirrorsexhilaration--proving any phase ofmoonstill tugsat the new seed..

.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..

Awake, I am crawling toward another day,
another crazy day to rearrange.
Just one day to be the fly on the wall,
tell me now, what would you change?

All aware to hide and seek,
there's an ironic world to be wrought.
Sing a song for all the peace,
and for every cold war you've fought.

I could rechart my course for the beaten path,
I could turn and walk away.
I could muster up the strength to fake another smile,
I can still hear my mother say...

"You better learn how to run
when you're under the gun,
before you are circled in chalk.

Listen to me
while the advise is still free,
you better learn to run 'fore you walk."

Awake, I am crawling toward another day,
another jumbled day to rearrange.
Just one day to be the fly on the wall,
tell me now, what would you change.

All aware to hide and seek,
there's an ironic world to be wrought.
Sing a song for all the peace,
and for every cold war you've fought.

I could rechart my course for the beaten path,
I could turn and walk away.
I could muster up the strength to fake another smile,
I can still hear my mother say...

"You better learn how to run
when you're under the gun,
before you are circled in chalk.

Listen to me
while the advise is still free,
you better learn to run before you walk."

~Like Doorways to Your Mind
by redbarchettadrive

There's a black hole, an entrance to your soul--
like doorways to your mind.
Cyclonic jets rise from the depths
of your universe. Starlight will not be contained--

It bursts and bubbles, it breaks the chains.
It spins the galaxies inside our brains.
Train your wings
on the freedom of space.
Keep the dream right in your face.

Revolution rings--
an eye for an eye.

Dream your dream, let your stars fly!

.Like echoes of April through Aphrodite's smilesoftly draped over sleepy mountains,waking with dew laden apple blossomsin a bright white field.The sun opened one eye and quicklyflooded the valley with light.The caves of ice began to melt soon to becomea clear rushing stream.The mist, slowly liftingand thesilence has just passed away . . . . . . . . . .For a moment in time the sun and the moonhesitated against the pale blue morning sky.Within the reach of a naked eye, Jupiter loomed.Fish filled the blossoming stream and all swamin the same direction.Time could have been standing still andthere would not have been anybody to complain.The scent of fresh apple blossoms whispered upon the air.I could hear panda playing bamboo flutes.Then I could hear people hustling and bustling.The sound of stainless steel objects seemed toslam into the concrete with a scattering,shocking force.Then I heardmy doctor speak firmly,"Clear."~

.Paralyzing memoriesdiscovered a milliondeep pockets inmy mind fromwhich to pouncelike a purple panther,or a compressed clown in a music box at anygiven time. Doubtseparates black light from sun, solidifyingshadows too afraidto leave the securityof the wall, anchoredin frozen, motionlesssafety. Relax, relax!Set the shadows a-blaze. Forget the oldcurtains, the carpet,just burn the shadowsdown. DOWN! JUSTBURN THEM! DOWN!We all fell. The shadowsand I slithered to the burn-ing floor along with theshadows as my macaronimind came to a rolling boil.My memories marched offin single file.File byfile.

.
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?






.

.

Love just like the dark night--
   scrapes its' cool wind across the
tossing face of the sea--
   Eyes on fire, so full of far away starlight
cast millions of years ago.

   Let us paint the world in lighter tones
to appreciate the midnight blues.



.

.
Miranda Writes


Miranda has the right to write in silence.
Anything you say, she will use against you
because you're moving your jaw.
Come knock on the door of my friend
Tom Sawyer. Especially if you cannot
afford a real lawyer.
I was trapped inside a rusty clock,
now I'm running out of time.
I'm gonna buy a tall, tall drink
and rub the rim with lime.
A pinch of salt, a pinch of skin,
just one more step and you'll be in.
These bottomless disturbances
quell my quivering quill,
I'm running out of time,
I've no time to ****.
Where voracious flowers whirl
with the movement of the moon,
and the lyrics won't be written
if I cannot find the tune.
In a dreamer's deeper darkness
remembering the womb's trembling throng,
keeps me merely existing just
to write your favorite song.
A piano intoxication is like
being chased by bees.
The more you drink, you'll drink more.
Let's go swimming in the keys.
Illumination's clear,
music is distressed.
It's time for me to go,
so, please don't be depressed.




.

.


Fusion--
a mastermind might find confusin'!

An obtrusion,
a tree that hides a mouse from an eagle.

Jumping into what you believed was a river--
an illusion.

Sanctuary...on Monkey Island.


.

-
I see Neptune
spinning in
her big blue eyes.

I see her
desire burn
every time
that
she tries.

She tries
so hard,
you can see it
in her face.

I moon-beam
with pride
just like
outer space.

I couldn't be
more happy
than a toad
on a paddy.

She moon-rocks
my world
when
she calls me daddy.





.

.

I've got a problem,
one eye is shut and
my mouth is in the
middle of my face.

My nose leans to
the right while
the children in
the corner mock.

The brush
paints an ear
where there once
was none.

I look like I'm missing
a chromosome. X,y, or z-
It's a little bit of you,
and certain parts of me.




.

.
He suspended her
from the lowest branch
of the tree.

Naked and wet.

plump--
reddened cheeks
from the kiss of the sun.

once bitten--

the whole city
flipped over



-and it snowed...


nickles and dimes!

.
A million glassy-eyed morning dewdrops falling easy--

We raise our empty glasses of daylight and salvation.

Disguised minds tell crazy stories through their blind eyes,
diamonds refract a symphony of dancing mother of pearl angels.

Love left the western heroes mothers dying in the sunset-

Questions waiting on your father, so old and ailing,
falling blinded, wind swollen eyes streaming tears.

The daylight blues swing as low as a wet December.

Where bee stings ache like exploding stars--

A hundred madman songs sang a thousand years ago.

Miracles always crystallize and slowly drip from Heaven,
prodigal points of view which had really never left my mind.

Children seem to look in the direction of greener worlds,
a lost lady sings soulful blues on the east side side streets.

Tonight the city will walk a mile in the devil's shoes...

Someone heard the cry of pilots at J.F.K. International,
where the street sounds wind through the streets like melting snow.

God knows your way is the alleyway to the Harlem House of Blues,
tell me my son, can you read my mind?

Listen to the simple sounds of
growing, gleaming, learning, laughing because-

New York's feet never touch the ground.








.

.

I thought that you loved me body and soul--

I thought,"Finally I made the grade."
I thought that you cared for me
deeper than deep,

just not as deep as your blade.




♥

.Asleep and unknown,fat brushed ash adheres toblind, bleating teeth;as the hovering world hangs-the mighty boats rise and fallwith the longing tide.Mountains rise with the respectto music, while electrical nightmarescelebrate light stained forgiveness,where hard, heavy tongues bindan entire generation. The tappingsoul forest's eternal beat, heavilywooded with pine and cedar,chips away at the teenager's stonedeyes. Bus stops stand like tombstonesfor those standing alone, runs its' icy fingersup and down the neck of perfect strangers;sending one long chilllike the spines of a sea urchin.Now! Psychotherapy is the new world's one hour sport.So, there's a broken creation of transparent things,plastic things, opaque things; and your precious Xanax tabs. My blackened bus lungs long to sing sailor songs of skyscrapers and simple melodies of old. With your rolled-up sleeves burning, you take note of the poor antstender feet as they carry their own dead off ofthe blistered path, where your neighbors perfectthe art of growing appleswithout trees, which has nothing to do with dying.

. . .  '  'Snared in a stateof oxyoblivion.Obsidian eyesblink in the dark.BLINK!Just knowing that myflesh should be tasted,just knowing I'm wasted,I probably should be pre-basted.BLINK!Just like a juicy ham on a spit, counter- clockwise I turn.I TURN. My flesh isabout to burn! BLINK!She's spun mein her web Momma,I won't be coming home.. . .  '  '

.To the poet, it's rhyme before reason.To the beast, a world with four seasons.To the pirate, high seas without treason.To the comedian, Jackie with no Gleason.To the snowman, there's no life before freezin'.To the tissue, there's no use until sneezin'.To the window, please let a spring breeze in!

.
Oh! Fragile martyr man--
your word play is so electric.

Therapy pulses magnetic
power
to your malignant
deformities.

Death becomes
your golden ticket
to enchantment.

The freedom revolution
evolves
from a badly broken,
bleeding humanity.

Certain
faces simply
whisper power
which question the spilled--
blood of thousands
on a daily
basis-

Another cliche war is
refilling the inkwells
of the blank page,
starving artist.  


Delicate tragic fairy tales remembered--

Layers of rust
encrust the tick and the tock
all throughout the grinding
gears of the clock.

Paintings of the Thinker
sit thinking in the
keenest calculable clarity.

The dreamers of darkness
bathe in the cold,
blinding sparks
of falling starlight.





.

.

One of these days
she will love me--

One of these days
she'll call...

One of these days
she won't pull away.

She's gonna let me kick that darned ball.

Because I'm gonna run
out of Xanax,
and her sign
will say that she's in.

One of these days
I'm going to kick that darned ball.
One of these days--

I will win.

There's times I love that red headed girl,
and my Beagle thinks he can fly.
One of these days I'm gonna kick that darned ball--

Does she really want see to 'ol Chuck cry?

One of my friends is covered in dirt,
in town I am known as a clown.
One of these days you will know me by name--

My friend Linus, he calls me Charlie Brown.

.This is the OzI've come to know,the one in my brainbeneath six feet of snow.The one that smellslike burnt raw umber,that rumbles like sewageand woke me from slumber.From a place in my past,where I've sat down and wept.From a deep, dark cornerwhere all my secrets are kept.And I feel more alivewith every secret I tell,I'm not lion,nor Miss Dorothy as well.Nor am I the Tinmanas I take another ganderat the rivers below methat slowly meander.Through the bowels of a citythat's there just because.It bleeds in my dreams,this place I call Oz.From the moment I woke upwhen my feet hit the gravel,I chose the high road;this brick road that I travel.Is this the partwhere I click my heels?Because you really, really  don'tknow how this feels.It all came to meon a mid-winter's night,while a city that sleptwas all covered in white.Tap, tap, tap. . .it rapped on in my dreams.Oh! the slamming of windows,the millions of screams.I feel I've slept a thousand years,wrapped in wrong, circled with flaws.A mere hallucination,then I saw the sign:Hey everybody-Welcome to Oz!

.
~To touch
one more piece of heaven,
to taste your golden gate bridge open--

as wild as a two tongue fury
in a peppermint
breeze.

Mongrels, at best-
having their way
beneath a mid-summer sky.

Groping to unfold each petal
before their season.
Where "loves-me-not"
is never an option.

Touch me hard so I can feel it.~

.
Eternity still holds a firm grip on my gaze--
my wonder.

It lead me down meandering streams,
Beneath the lofty willows,
Washing me upon mysterious shores where
Time is just an ancient notion.
Where day and night melted into one--

Running like a liquid wax beneath the castles' foundations.
Seems the sun and moon were all the poets ever dreamed of,
Or they would flood their dreams with only their light.
I remember walking by the old cemetery, counting each picket
Of the mile long whitewashed fence.
It was at that time in my life that I began to ponder eternity.
It had such a cold, icy feel to it then.

I remember.

My teeth would chatter
As I'd analyze the stars light
Stretching and criss-crossing into
The far unlit blackness of forever.

My favorite colors were always the blues and the grays--

Eternity still holds a firm grip on my gaze--
My wonder.

. She's a top-hat autocrat, inamber wavesof grain,singing whiskey lullabies-As young girls comes of ageanother flower dies.3 a.m. pencilsprickfamous strangers;the waitress in theblack stockingsstill believesshe's lost some timebomb ticking somewhere.A starving dog,unblinking-barked at my shoes..

.




raynebows are rayne's kite
raynebows are not too heavy-

they are pretty lyght






.

.When I finally holdthat mountain in my hands,after traveling to all of these wild distant lands--paradise will become mine to unfold.Always running from the cold city's temptation,as subdivided sectors seem to sink in frustration.Yet, tame in comparison to the lands I once knew,black diamonds surfaced in the rock garden I grew.What you get on your canvasis what you hold in your mind.Don't give up your brush,let's see what we will find.

He took a schizophrenic detour
by taking candy
from a bleeding stranger.

The beast in the machine
steers the planets, pinwheel galaxies
whirl on their own collision course through space --

as city sewers
whisper your name
the black thawing streets
will ****** narcotics
into the blind man's hand,
as another addict screams ****
for tastes of yesterdays'
dreamscape. . .

.Ah! Beautiful Selene-Bathe your naked body inThe waters of the ocean,Set your long hair against The wind,So lustrous in the moonlight.Your shepherd prince Endymion,You prayed his soul to keep.A cold cave for his sanctuary,You make love in his sleep.Against the archingBlack canopy of sky,Your tears fall andWe call it rain-As your fiery chariotPrepares to touch downOn a planet so full-Of the clinically insane.The sea of Tranquility calls outyour name.

.
Nectar from a knee-**** reaction
ran across my lips like
rusted railroad tracks out in the country.

I dove from the road when I heard the rubber
nervously grabbing for the asphalt below it.

She sure left in a hurry!

She took alot of time with her.
Mine!

(Just because...)
I told her about these,
and I told her of those.
I guess that's why she
had broken my nose.

She just rolled up her window,
and she drove away...
Back to a city that
has nothing to say.

And Silence of the
Lambs has nothing on her,
her tail-light escape
was lost in a blur.

Still, the joke'll be on her
by the end of the day
when her momma and daddy
take the T-Bird away.

Fun, fun...

.
She was a soft moon baby,
she cried an easy golden light,
where Bach bled blue beneath
a brass bed full of stars.

Remember the mornings when even death felt small?

The pain in your little white eyes
comes from the little white lies
which the winter wind refused to sweep away.

Yet you left the French doors to your soul
standing wide open.
"Were you born in a barn?
But her smile sure makes living easy,
and December seems so ancient
on the African plain.

Chaos simmered slowly
on her sweet apricot lips, as a lion
catches rain from her native tongue.

Cat bones dot the desert while their
souls are off hunting alone.
Life is life and on the run--where the mellow
milky moonlight crashed on the midnight sun..

.
Yeah, whoa! I must be out of my mind!
I've been running for miles just to make it on time.
Yeah, who do you think that you are?
Making me chase after you, but never getting that far.
Yeah, whoa! I must be out of my mind.
But, why must I fall in love with you tonight?

Yeah, your gravitational pull used to pull me along,
but tonight it's just impaling our song.
Whoa! We'd go...

Chorus:

Round and around
on this ride we call life.
Up and down, girl, Hey! We're out of sight!
And we can do anything that we want to do,
because nothing else matters when I'm with
somebody like you. (somebody like you)


Eighteen- I was out of my mind.
Nineteen, just another simple rhyme.
To do anything that we wanted to.
We'd play hide and seek, and I could never find you.
Yeah, then we pretended to have this all figured out.
It's like one, two, three, four.
L O V E
Whoa! We'd go

Chorus:

Round and around
on this ride we call life.
Up and down, girl, Hey! We're out of sight!
And we can do anything that we want to do,
because nothing else matters when I'm with
somebody like you. (somebody like you)

Yeah, now we're in our twenties
and we're still loving life.
Seems we're driving in the fast lane
just trying to get it right.

Whoa! Yeah! We must be out of our minds.
Always looking for trouble, but somehow staying alright.
Yeah whoa! Was I out of my mind
to look for somebody like you?
And yeah, we'd go...

Chorus:

Round and around
on this ride we call life.
Up and down, girl, Hey! We're out of sight!
And we can do anything that we want to do,
because nothing else matters when I'm with
somebody like you. (somebody like you)

.
Spiral City-

mocks far away eyes, where
rains' vibrant voice cries

out for pity.

Like an echo to a visionary,
darkness seeps in with a sigh.

Where small planets dart
in and out like honey bees.

Someday we'll all understand,
the day we hold cold wind in our hand.
When the downcast boys are fully grown,
when the magic candles are finally blown.

Unforgotten lullabies cascading on their own,
brings back to life each king and queen
that's fallen from their throne.

Someday we'll all understand...




.

.





We stand fast
against the tyranny.
They will never see
the livin' fear in me.

They've noted all our motives,
and took down all our names.
They stripped away our freedom
as Washington was going up in flames.

They took away our pistols,
every thing we could afford.
Then they bankrupted Chevy,
from schools, they banned the Lord.

Guitar Hero,
revolution;
out of gas, now
what's the solution?

The raising of taxes gets
preached to the choir.
The pews will smolder
with martyrs on fire.

AT&T; towers loom on the horizon.
Start a revolution on your Verizon.
We'll succumb to flame, never the plow.
I've one question, "Can you hear me now?"






.

.As I sat here all alone,I thought about 'ol Al Capone.So I got some water to fill my gun--and I commenced to shooting everyone.The bullets dripped off of their faces and hair.Bullet casings were scattered-- everywhere.Oh, how silentthe sirens would wail,just like the waggingof a puppy dog's tail.I was shootin' from the streetfrom my safety zonefrom my long, black Lincoln--I was Al Capone.Somehow, somebody got a hold of my gun,and I'm tellin' ya, I ain't no fool.No copper is ever gonna take me alive--so I ran and I jumped in my pool..

.
Quiet feet walk slow on the lamp-lit streets--

Oblivious faces passing help  
to light the night.
A darkened sea calls
to me, please
drop me at the door to her heart or
please, please set me free!

Secrets hide so well, even in the shining city.

Can you tell me Ms. Love how to
ease me of your ache?

I curled up and shivered
beneath the old cherry tree
with the lofty arms,
with the haunted silhouette
straining to paint the moon.

Last night I left my finest ode to rhyme
with my blue eyes falling--
upon her mouth.

Her cold hands clutched my heart
cruelly like a dying bouquet of serendipity
as the morning sun engulfed the
lamp-lit streets.





.

.Hand me your hand, my child;please don't be wary.You will feel right at homein our suicidal sanctuary.Here bleeds ****** Bobbywho chose the northern bridge.Over there is Moldy Maggie, locked herself inside a fridge.The birds and bonessing for those drowning in the sea,this sector is preservedfor the carotid artery.Bathtubs and toasters,oh, what a joke!Can't stand the singed hair,can't handle the smoke.Yes, we have a pool.I won't swear that it's true.We keep it filled upwith  idiots...like you..

.
Her mind is such a mystery,
her thoughts, they slip away so free.
What did. she. think. of me?

Summer blues, summer blues-
you just do what-ever you choose;
Whenever you leave me -
You say you win, and I lose.

My skin still craves your tender touch.
Your lovelight just hides from me so much.
Will there be another us?

Summer blues, summer blues-
you just do what-ever you choose;
Every time you leave me -
You say you win, and I lose.






.

.





  ---To be content in a mad, mad world,
to be the last sane man to see
absolutely nothing in the ink blotter clouds
marching across an azure sky like pigs
to slaughter,
laughing until the final bomb blast
  vaporizes our vocal chords.

Ripe and vibrating like a
tuning fork in A.
  Where insanity falls like rain,
we're driven mad by the patter.
  Drip, drip...
Madness took over Dallas last
  Saturday morning.

---The oceans will to rise tomorrow.
Do you live on the coast? East, west?
  Run to the hills like the bleating sheep.
Bleating and bleeding...
  Stampeding!

How long can a person tread
water surrounded
   by shark & man?

Not long...

Not long.








.

.
The mouth of death
opened wide
and swallowed me whole.

It's oblong eyes
tongues my bones
clean.

A slumping bouquet of dead
chrysanthemum stare
through the crooked
screen.

I can hear the
rumble of an aromatic
acid bath,
grumbling, tumbling,
as I'm fumbling for
my lighter inside this
suicidal psychopath.

The squeaky swing
in the yard sways
as I'm going
down frowning
like a cosmic clown.

So as
I'm remembering
a memorable memory,
the devil's on the loose.

( Suddenly I slip and slide
in his sloshing stomach juice.)

I do the back-stroke
'til my eyeballs are gone,
the bile I am mixed with
is as green as my lawn.

With one last chance,
I nailed up a poster and protested.
Then I climbed back out
before I was totally digested.

What does he think?
That I am a fool?
Besides, I have a test
this morning at school.






.

.
Exposed to the starlight,
stripped bare by the moonlight.

It is a conscious stream
of those living the dream,
unfolds me origamically
with every beam.

These tears on my face--

I cannot hide.
Where time and space
eventually collide.

They pry open my soul
exposing a sweet sunshower.
They strip me to bone
within the hour.

I fall like Icarus,
where my wings have failed.
My feet land firm on Neptune
yes!--

the moon and stars hath prevailed.

Where symphonies of light
will do what they'll do.
As for me--

What a view! What a view!
















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