I will do whatever the **** I want, always
No matter what anyone says
I'm the nicest person in the world
But only until they try to steal my eyes
Telling me what to see

Where I'm from, everything is in purple
It is so beautiful but everyone wants out
Because where I'm from all is purple, all is one

In here, we can see the whole colour spectrum
Be it orange, be it green, perhaps red, or maybe black
In the end though only purple is on our mind
They don't have that purple here
here, it's nowhere to be found

She rolls to her side
Her luscious skin against mine.
She opens her eyes
Like my savior, so Divine.

The pile of pine burned with ferocity
While fields of watermellon wore green in generosity

Jerimiah delivered rows of assiduous thoughts
Fertilized in decisions made years ago

Margaret was from Huntsville , working on a divinity degree
She was small , rode a bicycle , studying infinity
Timid , not unlike a titmouse in spring
Margaret had a sister named Judy

Jerimiah left for the mountains of Colorado
He took only his last name Johnson
He spent winters hibernating with the bears
He learned to have no fear and grew a long beard

Tennennessee is in Alabama , just south of Huntsville

A snowslide almost buried Jerimiah

Margaret moved to North Carolina
got married and that's all I know

Jerimiah made tracts in the snow . . . go
He sat above the devide looking down
Sometimes west when the sun went down
But mostly east under the full moon
Howling so forlornly the wolves cry

Margaret looks west every night
Then sheds one tear

Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.

I took my guitar to the sea and said:
'Come now heaven, these fingers bled,
Wrangle and rain for thoughts you deign
And all the listeners dumb shall proclaim,
Strings are merely— vibrations of the soul
And soul is merely one mirror to the gods,
Take my dying art and throw it— to wind
My soul shall be ever, one with your kin.'

existence is
truly divine
thank you for that description
the paths are immaculately
intertwined
so delicately
it makes me smile
and release.
I trust in infinity,
am not bothered by the
concepts
of reality
faithfully excepting tomorrow
morning
with its new life
for all.
yesterday
is far.
yesterday can be a struggle
its your starting place
Do you feel its grip?
cut the cord
concentrate
on existence
it only moves forward
learn to dance
with
divinity
centralize your energy
and speak YOUR song!
write it, draw it, put it to a melody
or mix it with watercolors
and quench your sources thirst
for PositiveMovement
for creation
never forgetting
yesterday
or those that existed
then
but allowing it to stay
there
where it belongs
and sending yourself
prepared
alive
and divine
forward into existence

She ran from me
in her voyeuristic
tendencies.
Bespectacled in the night,
she shed away her divinity
this girl with a penchant for tragedy.

A dramatic prelude to her kiss
would be the fixations of the poet
to her eyes and lips and skin.
Those which he can only recall
in music--

the slow andante of violin strings
entangled in the coasts
of her body.

Come morning you wake
to the tune of silence.

You could never tell her
those three words she longed to hear.

Every culture of the world, they speak of,
Tell the tale of a great flood,
I feel the weather is changing, pouring hot
And getting ready to spill.
    I don't know what it was like before,
    'think now is like before the flood.

And so I welcome the rain from the sky,
It is only the tears of the earth,
As a young woman who cries,
Showing beauty along with the hurt,
In future days woes of our lives,
Will be cleansed by the tears of the earth.

I read the story of Noah and his ark,
'say that he was a righteous man,
I look for truth but I can't see clear it's dark,
And all the animals are scarce.
    I feel the end of an age is come,
    Inequity is the day, O Lord!

*And so I welcome the rain from the sky,
It is only the tears of the earth,
As a young woman who cries,
Showing beauty along with the hurt,
In future days woes of our lives,
Will be cleansed by the tears of the earth.