Mr. Celest, won't you please entrance with your stories full of dropping names that I bet no one else could recall, even if the plausible is true?

Long men have a long time to build upon the craft of yarn-spinning , promising the archway, but never daring to get in touch with powerful ways of listening to others.

This prince has a story, too.

The crime of our age is how people live so long that they stop living to fantasize about the old days which were never as glamoruos as we recall.

The only thing you talk about is what you used the think about, when you  wished upon a shooting star that once trailed above the ocean blue.

This knave has a story, too.

An automatic pratter or the vocals in the air are not impressive to someone like me who has seen the sins and suffered wages of the ages.

The reason for your phonics is as empty as your wallet, but your name is never in the liner notes to the teary songs you try to sing.

This man has a story, too.

There is a beaker on the burner and it bubbles quite a lot, much like a festering boil, and the words that stream along are never ending.

You might learn there are surprises in the world still left to make you wonder, still there to give you feeling so you have enjoyment in your life.

This sage knows magic, too.

why must we all be
angels               or
devils

sometimes both

lets be humans
and laugh
at
our futility

I can only ask the world of this one small favor if ever an hour shall fit and the words could be beacons of light and please just remind me to stay awoke with gentle wind at my back bringing grace into view as it recedes back amonst the ocean and the pillars of prayer that chatter those by the wailing wall and embraces those that tap upon the rattling door that keeps all the children in the haze of a pasture in the heat of the life it enables just as the psalm is his wisdoms delighte as the air blows through martrix bound code cadets out to circumvent a cataclysmic drive to mate and just move to another and then again in the canal of sight and sound and a collective failsafe that will abort a life like an absence that has been inflated around a parade float as the gathered selection of these types that think a giagantic caricature could ever be the answer we sought when the major and minor dont differ the playpen of such men and the zen of another culture without this beautif notion. Zen be my trigger anddplay in the realm of the game caught dead to its life inmy aim so i fire but miss by a mile in its eyes was the wild soulfire of the warwielding and battle crys deep in the sounds of the ones before whom never shot with this gun mans way to dwindle without any extra provocation needed as the sun can burn til its over and the sky will die oh sitting at the peak of a trip ive found in me somewhere just startled and sad to be him always knew this was unrelated but relevant reaching fingers darling to the baby of the fam a few people together bond with the twisting genetic tumble lay down with my chest to the sky of my own self saturated in the conversation last upon my drifty lips just slap at the man at the gate called the end in the ending of all and the affect makinf reflections by the bay of days wuth the haunting of its machine by the ghost of poor working soul
My friends say my parents have said then i forgot by the lake of recall made to the mists in its mouth in the water in the wet wisdom dreaming of man when list in the blanket of night.
Oh ******* words and ******* too if you think ive an answer for you just the sound of me laughing to pieces nothing will last but nothing claims so spread your arms open wide as rays pull you back from the brink and all can be whole if only for tonight swept tight in the skin of the crawl made to wander in search of another to seed as its life pours itself back out into another manic molecular arrangement is made up in script of those if its sun artic laughter so iced mended and cold rendered to cut to the deep of the mind absurd ol me and the powers that be wrapped so tight in the arm of celest the name of earth as of early where its charge made planets to swirl axioms everywhere you look and in every book and inside the dna of all these men... Lost as ever
**** the daylight and ******* howl at the moon and be that golden light that can make a symbolic stand never delivered from surrender that was left as his testament shook to the place you can go where you can hold as it blows the beginning back to its own conception and reduced back to the file used to make space time a funny little thingie in the gears of a train never ending stopping only in the valley of the stars in the chasm uninfered by the redundancies of intention