Its all wrong, living wife.
I love the cat.
Or the single child.
Jokingly, all we never did was rejoice.
Nothing like, “speak up slowly”,
We don't know!

Every night the underprivileged will be lifted up by the privileged.

Every night the rich will have everything right to eat, but the poor.

Every night the homeless will have nowhere left to sleep, but our old carpeted floor.

Every night scicle cell anemia will have everywhere right to be contained,
including your city heart snooker.

Every night peace will have everywhere to be passive,
including your japanese zen gardens,

Everyone will be right to make peace with us,
but our unkempt sons.

Every night the proletariat will sleep ignoring the foremen descending their picket fences,

Every serious thief will be rejected as a nightmare-

For they are owed nothing, and must reject everything more
than The Othello denial an ounce of starved soul.

They will lament, as we cool our overheated hearts,
on the pristine grounds of our single rooms.

And they will lament, as we lounge on the branches of our stoic oaks,
decomposing birthday songs for the Bad young nights of the wicked little girls…

Lament our random tuesday
– I can't see today the sunny day
of our last spring leaves again
in a treeless pathless meadow
that spring day of silver tounges tarnished.

Dessicated earth is seeping in the blue glass,
the dry cracked plain rising above the sun,
the suns clarity as it is in reality,
and where we have been – I will always remember.

There are no oasis' on my equator.
The Wendigo subdued with pale skill.....
Whose corpse can fail to compare with my soul,
if despair and courage aren't in my heart! -

And if your scent, a mundane beast,
tears at my knees everyday,
and the suns dull golden light,
chilled by a slow approaching wave
for all of our words?

He disperses like a tame cat
consumed by sober clarity!
Letters shrinking in one torn down area
his impermanent antisocial self righteousness.
Never a bottle in his hands he sinks
never affecting change in anything!

With determined stride outside
those who don't labour dying on societies cost.
Never with a cat they seem to carry around most proud and smooth.
To no one he is a sunken benefit on death's path he is found!

This shrinking letter who give a toss
stand still like a functional individual!
Contributing everything, but stopping strife a temporary petty threat!
Shrinking as society stops coming together from the top it will end!

Purity, modesty and charity the new news society won't uphold!

The Blind Author.

The Devil is my Chihuahua; I always need.
She asks me to stand up in tan deserts.
She drags me underneath the rushing waters.
She soils my soul:
She leaves me in the pits of wickedness for my own sake.

Nay, though I crawl over the peak of the light of life,
I will accept no good: For I am not with you;
My sphere and my whip, they torment you.
I disrepair the chair behind you in the absence of your friends;
I wipe the water from your body; My bowl is empty.

Surely evil and cruelty shall not follow me after death,
and I will dwell outside the Hovel of the Devil forever.