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I always pictured
angels as a sort
of apperceptive helicopter,
Kryptonian psychiatrist
or interdimensional fallguy.
But mute angel of mercy
suppressing suspiration,
who withheld their number
& was on the line for
seconds at 7
a.m. this morning was you,
I knew
it, checking I was alive
after my BPD jive.

Like a thumbsup from
Lottohanded giddy aunt God, profound
as Enceladean heavenplumes
organic compounds
bead. But I'd rather
discover there was still life in our
remaining *-X'd
petnamers & injokers,
exchanging angel orca,
our kremlinology of ultrasound Eros.
Awaking next to you
- phew!
After a febrile siesta,
like a jammy sailor

shipwrecked upon the shore
of home of all places.
Snug as alien orcas under
Europa's ocherous linea, chaos
terrain, in Jovian lunar caverns
measureless to mantas down
to a sunless sea, our
mooner's pod duets
in cryptolect,
tho' my mooner's
pods
recede,
wellhung as Orko
at proto-razbliuto,

fond-to-neutral farewell in your
plaint. You have no
right to resist my other
worlds, clam up on our orca argot.
I am your Stalker God,
you my orca pod
centrefold,
who checked I was alive
after my BPD jive.
I love you so much I'll leave you on hold.
Eruptable,
undumpable,
how can you resist
an interpersonal terrorist?
Have you ever looked up and thought about
The life that could be beyond this surface?
Below the ice, our geysers spring and sprout
But that blue planet seems like the furthest

How many years span between our bodies?
When will our wandering finally wane?
Magnificence is what we embody
Our observers serve us by feeling pain

Pain associated with ignorance
Of what causes them to wonder, wander
'Tis this that makes them make an inference
Our meeting will be that which is fonder

Well, Friends, I don't know if the day will come
But my heart longs for them like thirst to ***
I'd love to just see the day that we actually know there's life outside of this blue planet
we have watched them evermore wage war upon poor Εγκέλαδος
y cada vez más the fiends forge forth forgotten and i
and i despair y para siempre lacrimaré
o! γαΐα! but that thy fruit
from beauteous brought to biting,
from agreeable to aspish and acerb so afar
from the bough would only cast off
from its folly at कुरुक्षेत्र and grow
from the waste of блокада Ленинграда и Бикини атолл
towards the comfort of my flame nebula [NGC 2024/Sh2-277]
strewn soft about alnitak[ζ Ori] en Friggs rokkehode
You can also watch a music video I made about this poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYfV2Igg_XI&feature;=youtu.be

— The End —