A crumbling god lays in my grasp.
As he lay coated in my tears.
I can't help but hope they heal him.

He said we'd ascend.
We'd leave our flesh vessels.
To watch over them like gods.

Yet, with all the power I've consumed.
Why is the body I'm holding stiff?
I've become a god, all you've ever wanted.

When you said you could join me.
Was that just a lie?
You said we could rid the Earth of filth.

What do I need to do to tell you I love you.
Would it take mere words to bring you back?
Ashes to ashes.

A tall man came today.
Coated head-to-toe in black.
He said he could bring you back.

For one small price.
If I gave up my name, my identity.
For that, you would return.

I accepted.
I await your arrival.
While you rest, I caress you.

I need to rest, I've been awake too long.
You may not remember me.
But that is alright.

For you see, my dear.
As long as you are here.
We can be gods all we'd like.

You're like me.
We're one and the same.

You can be the moon, I'll be your sun.
When we eclipse we will rule this land.

Take my hand, let us become one.
We shall consume this universe.

Let us watch these puny humans from the stars.
Nobody will ever hurt us, or touch us again.

We have the power to mould this world into whatever we like.
A world with peace, and without filth.

Or maybe just devour the world.
And start it again, brand new.

Hand-in-hand, I find my strength.
My other half.

The Venus to my Mars.
The Eve to my Adam.

We can control these failures under our wrath.
Our reign shall last an eternity.

I will no longer let you be humiliated in a horrific reality.
Take my hand, let us ascend.

nothing is trite, nothing is optional
waited and waited and to the heavens
no prying notion, not even a fear escapes
the mind's tricks or worry that phrases
could be repetitive-

exuding the forces of the world
legs and arms and eyes and mind
there are not dactyls to measure
such words, when the words do not
yet exist.

There is no unfinished ends that need soldering,
I sent the letters in my last life. The one where upon me
You crept up and looked at the chasm and held the rocks
From my pockets in your hands, and took off my robe.
I don't even know how long I'd been staring into the deep
Insanities of The Plateau, counting sheep, and hedging bets,
Slowly going completely into the Pacific, rising and bowing
Inside the blooming ripples of those fourteen foot waves that
Never made the break wall. Maybe it was I colliding with
Those enormous ships of victory I envied that bore the flags of
China and tore away from the coastline.

I don't care what you say, I believe it was you calling.
Beethoven could have heard the call.
In fact, he did. It's the odes of joy.
Don't get hung up on improper word use,
There will be time for us to write each other's sentences,
Build one another's dictionaries, and bend who's and what's, where's,
How's, and why's.

What azurean universe lives in the cornucopia of pulchritudinous lumens
That shape your eyes? What language is it that spoke its creation? Teach Me the languages that breed the shaky and vibrant voices of rock and roll.
The ridges inside the tide that bring the sea life to live. I will, I will hunt Dinosaurs and Guitarasaurus Rex will hang its Ray Ban wearing head of Enormous proportions out of the deciduous treeline to dazzle us with
The gorgeousness of delta blues rock and pre-Cretaceous 50s icon pop
While we slide on the wooden floors having our sock hop.

Seussing us up into a pinwheel of onomatopoeia
And nightscape of stardust, song, and merriment.
The beginning of a memoir, the counting back of hours like
Driving with the Ferrari California's gears in reverse to shed
Off the extra mileage, or swim in salt water pools, and drink
Pink and orange aeviternal eves and the groves of lavender, lilac, and Streaming cerise bands of light entomb these two lovers in the Mesmerizing drove of morning, upon some moon-draped porch
Some Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday in
Satirical snow-covered and 50º Chicago.

Say I can play guitar and I can play guitar
But only when we're teaching we,
Sunday thru the ends of years
And the offspring of those years.
Back from the hours, unlocked by the tides, and
Hemmed to the interstices of fingertips and
Internal yearnings for olives and olive juices.
Eves, morns, and the 33 hour day.
Where in your enchanting cadence of life
All is well, extending beyond good and beyond okay:
excelsior. Since our bonds coalesced just this past Sunday.

For Saranell