We   cut    and  shook
our    hands,   formed
a  bond   as  you  told
me,   "I will always be
in you as your blood."
But now you have dis-
appeared and all I am
left with is a  scar and

anemia.

IF you ever decide
the dream is NOT dead
I left you my pillow
laying on your bed.
There’s a drop of my blood
on the floor of your bedroom
from when the fan almost cut off
my long clumsy fingers.
I have shed my gold hair
all over your city.
Just like the cat
and the dog
that I am.
This would be enough
to concoct a magical potion
IF you ever decide
the dream is NOT dead.

What's to be said of two raindrops who,
in a gust of wind, form together as one-
only to be torn apart by an impending smash on new earth?
To ride the concrete that rejects them
concentrated by gravity
stomped upon by careless feet
who carry heads with no notion of the anguish they cause.
What's to be said of a world faced by an impending smash?
crumbling under each shattered drop,
countless partings of the earth
under each pounding foot,
the roots of earthling ignorance.
A world that's forced to carry endless heads
with no notion of the anguish they cause.

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
     My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
     They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied, stifled throes—
And yet I am, and live—like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
     Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
     But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest, that I love the best,
Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes, where man hath never trod,
     A place where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
     And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

One way to be very happy is to be very rich
For then you can buy orchids by the quire and bacon by the flitch.
And yet at the same time People don't mind if you only tip them a dime,
Because it's very funny
But somehow if you're rich enough you can get away with spending
water like money
While if you're not rich you can spend in one evening your salary for
the year
And everybody will just stand around and jeer.
If you are rich you don't have to think twice about buying a judge or a
horse,
Or a lower instead of an upper, or a new suit, or a divorce,
And you never have to say When,
And you can sleep every morning until nine or ten,
All of which
Explains why I should like very, very much to be very, very rich.

today seemed inspired,

clever grammatic acrobatics,

maybe some genuine musings,

definite contextual reactions.

has the psyche, yours and mine,

been as busy as the day's rain?

what was so different in the air,

when we stayed inside,

seCured in our sense of shelter?

was it ugly out? I found it beautiful,

but I couldn't take my laptop outside :/