If I had seen the Devil
In the middle of the night
I'd have told him that he's ugly
And rebuked him out of spite.
I couldn't just roll over
And ignore his evil might.
But I guess that makes me foolish
For just barking at his bite.

As Winter is wandering, no longer to loom,
A choir of flowers is starting to bloom.
This scene is too pretty to taint with a man,
So instead comes a boy reaching down with his hand
To a Daisy, the prettiest flower to sing.
His expression is moved from a sober down swing
To a face full of hope and of wishful intent.
His eyebrows now bow and he looks discontent,
Like he wishes the Daisy a different flower,
A Tulip, perhaps, something showing the power
Of God more completely, but then the boy blinks.
His eyes seem to listen; his eyebrows unkink.
What he hears is unknown, but he pulls from his pocket
A letter with perfume, a picture, a locket.
He smiles, uncertain, and says the words sweetly,
"She loves me." He pauses and sighs very deeply.
He picks the first petal and closes his eyes.
The Daisy, it seems, stops singing and cries
For the fear of the dangerous words coming soon.
The choir's beginning to darken its tune
To a mournful display of the Daisy's dismay,
But the boy only hears what his girlfriend would say
When he reads her sweet letter his lips mouth the words,
"Truly blessed to love you," and he thinks of the chords
Of a song that she sang to him once about God.
As his mind is reminded, again his lips nod,
"I thank you God," and he looks at the picture.
His nose sips the perfume and his ears feel the texture
Of the canticle key-change. His frown melts away
Like Winter to spring and his heart sings the lay.
The Daisy, soprano, coos joyfully high
As her petals are taken, to tell them good-bye.
The boy's smile grows certain and certainly lovely.
He shouts now, "She loves me. She loves me. She loves me."

I'm not a liar; I'm a great deceiver.
I'll change your words with clever interpretation,
Make your brain believe your body's a ******,
Make wood and wetness your highest occupation.

This makes it tough to trust myself. I never
Knew gullible until I thought myself truthful.
And since I also can't trust you--whatever--
I'll teach you to be disloyal. Lies make youthful

Bliss complete, good or evil, harm
Or help, oppression or freedom, logical
Enough to make no sense. So let my charms
And conjurations please you to recall.

My beautiful lies leave truth surpassed.
If we believe them: happiness at last.

God is happiness and happiness is God to me.
Surgeon General, Pope and Dali Llama all agree,
And everyone is searching for the blessed trinity.
So eat and drink and **** and when we die, we'll see.

I used to stay inside the lines prescribed
By those who seem to know what lines to draw.
They make things black and white for comforts sake
So we don't have to think about these lines,
Except the color of the space between.
I flawlessly made dragons' rainbow scales,
And colored many boxes perfectly.
I curved my waxy instrument along
The pitch black, cliff-like edge of lines, until
I slipped. I stared at the red so long and soon
All I saw was red; the page was red,
The room, the sky, the universe, my soul,
All red. I tried to fix my one mistake
But failed. Then I looked at the broken line, and saw
That it was not a picture I disliked—
Only for reminding me of my mistake—
But it was better for the flaw. I had
A taste for coloring outside the lines, and started
Doing such things on purpose--blue and orange
Outside the lines, and especially green. Mistakes
Had made my works of art unique, but soon
I made mistakes my only work. I bled
The colors—green and blue make black—on the page
To discover, like astronomers,
I could tear the page—I tore it.
Soon there I was, a Jack looking outside the box.
I didn't even notice my inhibitions had gone.
Of course,
The blur of lines had made me blind,
These pages, the universe, my soul were doomed,
But certain doom was at least a certainty.

I wonder how a rhododendron smells.
Such a lovely word should have a scent
To match, but words keep secrets the object tells;
What fragrance could this flower represent?

I've smelled my share of flowers, sweet and sour:
Roses for rapture, Chrysanthemums for trust,
Daisies for friendship with magic healing power,
Rue for unrequited, and lilies for lust.

I'd like to make a newer scent by breeding
Flowers with all the traits I love the best.
My unconditional tulip has been pleading
For a sweeter scent than all the rest.

Your love has such a scent my love can blend on
Sweet enough to smell like Rhododendrons.