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.

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.

A cave crawls into me, turns inside out,
Captures my heart and saves my skin for last.
Slimy shadows spread like faith to doubt.
Is this the Jungian Shadow here to lambaste

While all the photons of the sun depart
As quickly as they come--an original sin--
And stop my thinking like Rene Descartes,
Affronting twistless logic like particle spin?

Now perceiving nothing it must exist,
Like Freud with OCD made Oedipus blind--
Becoming nothing nothing can resist.
Finally into earth my mind confined:

Create in me a ***** heart, o earth.
Perhaps a worm will have a ****** birth.

Our liquid souls collide in liquid lips.
No words are needed for tongues to entertain
Each other, slick as flickering fingertips,
Blistering with the passion of the insane.

We share our plasma while there's something to burn.
Brand your name within my irises.
Eyes memorize as much as they can learn,
Like a computer scanning for viruses.

I rise like heat when clothing melts away
And now our tongues can fulfill their destinies.
No more thinking; it is time to play.
In slightly less than seventy ways we please.

The ****** is slithering and slakes while nearing
Exploding in ecstasy-- sensational searing

I've trudged the tracks of righteousness alone
And walked the walk of wickedness with grace.
I've done things I cannot now condone
On either side-- you'd see it in my face.

I thank god for this life which I have wasted
And all the gifts which it has given me,
But how do I repay when I've not tasted
The lavish love of such an old decree?

"By faith" you say. I say "you have it all,
For I'm not one to disbelieve my doubt
But faith? Oh, please don't make me lol.
Betrayal changes what men are all about."

Perhaps god's nothing. I'm fine with it;
Ex nihilo cogitatione fit.

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.

All about the night of my demise
Were visions of your terrifying eyes,
Natural lovers unnaturally bent to hate.
"Which of your loves?" asks God. I say, "Whichever.
Even empty eyes can penetrate.
I can love them all and love forever.
I only ask all promises be true.
The more I love, the more I can accrue."
To death and all of the promises it brings!
So many forevers with so many different loves;
"I raise your seventy-two virgins" the angel sings,
"Praise the holy **** in heaven above!"
I can't wait 'til promises are put to test
And finally, after "judgement", God can rest.

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."

O, foul computer stopping me
From writing e-mails happily.
You're young and yet you act so old
By freezing when you are not cold
Or turning bluish in the face;
Look for my letter; not a trace,
Your browser then will quickly die
Preventing me from ending my

One morning, while sleeping right next to the phone,
I grabbed the receiver and heard quite a tone;
A beautiful voice was just ringing with glee.
I think it was happy to talk, and with me.

And she said, "I remember the way that you'd look
While you honestly laughed at the way that I took
All your ventricles, atriums-- all of your heart--
And I'd kiss it and innocence with us would part
To the fields where our wrestling wasn't a curse,
And the grass left no stain on our clothes or our mirth."

"I remember the way that your heart would kiss back
As if shyness and manhood and wisdom it lacked.
But your heart in your lips also spoke, not just kissed,
The words gentle yet firm, always smooth, never hissed;
You would speak of the white picket fence we would have
With your white picket teeth glowing bright while you laugh."

"To you the word marriage meant nothing but me
And the God whom you loved, in a song would agree.
With your heart in your lips and my heart in my throat
I would say, "Though your tongues' of an angel I quote
From my verse of the day through which God has revealed
That I shouldn't love you and here's how it was sealed;
"It is good for a man not to marry." so I
Think I'll take that to heart and I'll bid you good bye."
Here you cried and you said through a breathless exhaust,
"Does this mean that the love I have given is lost?""

O, if I could have seen her fair face through the line
And if one hazel Iris that used to be mine
Was just weeping a lonesome and singular tear
I'd have fallen apart, but instead with a sneer
She then gave me the wonderful theme of the call;
That is, "Laugh at your folly in love!" Then she hung up.

Dreams aren't for those with wings who cannot fly.
The ostrich and the penguin tell the tale
That if you can't you also shouldn't try;
Why flap at all when feebly you will fail?
They're content obeying gravity,
And keeping dreams and feet upon the ground.
Flying to them is sheer depravity.
Being on earth, they know they're heaven-bound.
They feel the wind-- no need to sublimely soar.
They see the sky-- no need for close-up views.
No need to win-- there's no one keeping score,
No need to wag their wings-- they cannot lose.
With useless wings they've no hope of getting higher.
That's fine with them; they've given up desire.

The world will be better after science proves god exists.

I love you more than life and death,

and all the words of earth combined.

I'd give you even my last breath,

and in your heart I might just find

the thing that I've been looking for,

the love I crave so frightening.

You're not my lost and loved Lenore,

but something much more quieting.

I'm speechless in you presence, though

I'd never give you up to doubt,

and all my feelings I can crow

will never let you run about.

I love you better than myself,

and that, my dear, defines itself.

Is it wrong to be a skeptic with a vengeance?
My super power's logic with a twist
Like a cold dagger drawing warmth from your heart.
No poison until you finish your vegetables.
I hope your afterlife is as pleasant as you say,
But how could it be with you there?
My faith is chemical induced, like yours,
Only I have better drugs.

We walked the beaches holding hands,
Our naked feet massaged upon its
Grainy, cornmeal, golden sand
And water blue as Texas Bonnets.

The sun was gently overcast,
Its golden light dispelled by haze.
And though it's beauty would not last,
Our hearts were with its fleeting rays.

I dared to touch you, eye to eye,
And in your bright gray Iris found
That same dispelled and gentle sky
Forever to my spirit bound.

Our footsteps furrowed in the sea,
As if the ocean bid them come
And dance its waters rhythmically.
They stayed, instead, like raisined plums.

And while we walked in harmony
We sang a hymn to God, our King,
Encouraged by the endless sea
And love so vast, untamed, to sing.

The ocean seemed to sing along
And underscored our three-four time
With lapping like a metronome—
The trio trippingly sublime.

Our anthem, carried on the breeze,
Sauntered through your curly hair.
A lonesome trembling dread then seized
Your forehead—cute while whipping there.

At last, as though a common day,
The sun went down, gave way to moon.
Our song grew still. A silent lay
Voiced then our love. But that was June.

If love's first minute after Noon
Is night, our walking, singing songs
Should have made us fear, since soon
The love we shared would all be wrong.

But true minds married will confess
That Love's no fool of Times. So, Sweet,
Our love continues to regress
While holding hands with wrinkled feet.

Dear universal true reality,
My friend has prayed to God, your instrument,
That He would make me miserable with glee.
Now, like Lucifer, I cannot repent.

So I must meet with Him in open battle,
And test my will with his, and see whose is larger.
This battlefield, my life, may quiver and rattle,
But Suffering gives me faith; my heart grows harder.

My will with yours shall tear his soul in twelve
And send it to the scattered tribes, unseen.
I used to fear the lord, and then myself,
But now my fear is lost, my eyes are keen.

His grace is not enough for him to win.
Your grace is stronger coupled with my sin.

When my ******* lofty
Thoughts inspire
Me to hate the God who
Loves me, cursing,
Spitting, trampling on the
Savior, I
Consider whether god is
Just a product
Made by Suffering—*******
Chinese finger
Trap of suffering—creatures
Hating creation,
Or a dual-natured
Being, but in
Stead of order versus
Chaos, He is
Chaos versus chaos.

I swear to god I'm a genius,
whatever god is.

There are only one of me as far as I know.

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.

I'm a master of Baguazhang.
I will break your face like diamonds cutting glass:
precise.
I'll fall upon you like glorious Achilles
wasting no time and hitting all of your weaknesses,
knocking you off balance to your doom.
Your nose will snap,
your arm will shatter,
your will as broken as your bones,
you will submit to me!
I dare anyone to attack me,
even if he's ten feet taller;
he doesn't stand a chance.
I will crush his skull half a second before he realizes I'm upon him.
I'm trained to ****,
and I will.
I dare you bring a gun.
I dare you think about it.
I am a monster.
Only a true hero can
defeat me.

As if to walk away from Hell, he paces,
Going the opposite of anywhere,
Escaping from his fellow fickle faces.
Yet, he can't escape himself, his master,
The one humanity had best beware--
He's a supernatural disaster.

We are angels, made of light,
Becoming more each other when we touch.
But we matter more than mass.
Are angels waves or particles?
Waves crash,
But what do Particles do?
Collide.

I don't like Haiku.
It doesn't work in English.
It sounds incomplete.

What life do I take pleasure in

but taking glory in my sin?

If there's a god that finds me lacking

Then he deserves a decent smacking.

I may not believe like you or you;

I also can't know for certain what's true.

My mind will not allow me to.

Rage, RAGE against the dying of the night.
Or Tiger, Tiger burning bright.
Am I even getting these poems right?
Or am I just afraid of flight?
I was being myself, outright
and nobody cared I lost my sight.
Am I myself when I ignite
the fiery hell of being right?
Or being myself can I be spite?
It's not my fault that I am white!

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.