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Maybe I can
Howl once again.
It seems, you’re far more damaged…
I’ve been a fool.
If it’s easier
I’ll stand for you.
Tell me when you can howl once more.

If I were you
And I could see the moon,
Maybe I’d understand why you weep.
I’ve been a fool, but I’ll make amends.
I’ll learn how to see.
Tell me if you can’t...see...no more.

Don’t abandon your light.
These nights will always come.
You’ll sing again and...
I’ll be the freak
That keeps you company.
I love you,
When you tease me,
Play pranks on me,
Burst out in laughter with me,
You blossom,
You look adorable.

I love you when when you sleep,
With one arm and leg on me,
You look way cute,
With your curls on your face too.

I love you when howl in the shower,
Sing songs we both love,
Care free, content.

I love you when you look into my eyes,
Hug me tight,
Kiss me long,
Whisper in my ears,"I love you too."

Let's grow old together and have fun,
My heart you have won.
11/6/2019
Lawrence Hall May 21
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed…”

                                       -Allen Ginsberg


No. He didn’t.

He helped mediocrities self-destruct
Through formless howlings in their lonely minds
He pushed them to their deaths with obscene smirks
No more connected than foul faeces flung

Against the good, the beautiful, the true
He pitied himself, and called it rebellion
He squealed out his pimply scatologies
He destroyed the weaklings he could have helped

The best minds of his generation pitied him
But kept their children far away from it
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
veritas Apr 21
she was obsessed with this idea of rebirth because she messed up too many times; she believed everyone deserved a Rennaisance, and it was her vision of the circle yeats drew,

and it was for dreamers who squatted in gutters along alleyways hoping to find a muse fallen and buried in the filth;

and it was for realists who really had fallen and buried themselves in filth because their homes were lower than that;

and it was for addicts, who believed they had really been to the moon and conspired against naysayers;

and it was for conspiracists who knew all along the moon simply didn't exist because they had it manufactured in their kitchen;

and it was for sleeping girls with trembling hands who sought out this kitchen in the night whilst everyone merrily slept;

and it was for the sleeping boy who really wasn't asleep but lying naked under sheets and limbs;

and it was for the tangled limbs that still quivered next to him from a dissolved ecstasy, boyish and sad and hungry;

and it was for that hidden starving hunger that still plagued the neighborhood's homes and lingered on doorsteps, begging;

and it was for begging peals of laughter that his mother sent up from the rooftop when the sky went dark and only her kin across town, reeling, beastly, gorgeous, could ever reply;

and it was for unsent replies, for conscripted soldiers, for wars fought by better men and surveyed by lesser;

and it was for less-than-scrupulous masters who hid under their solemn cathedral art that spoke higher than god himself;

and it was for god who left the world to fend under his illusory cloak of stars, so dim it only mocked his fiery wrath beneath;

and it was for that fiery wrath, the kind that incited and ravaged and devastated, merciless with abandon for all of mankind's own misgivings;

and it was those misgivings that had started her renaissance, her quest for glory cores and sovereign minds, for signs and streets and women and colors and light and the end of all suffering;

it was for restart (like a death, but shorter), somewhere between termination and a genesis in vitro (the liminal space found within and without); for her alone, solitary line cleaving the shadowy folds of time, defiant, windswept, miraculous, insignificant glitch through the eternal night; for her, until she commanded time to stop; for her, hungry; for her, powerful; for her, terrified; for her for her and only ever her: the regifted universe.
inspired by Howl.
Relahxe Mar 18
I see what others can't
I hear it all distorted
The chirping of the birds
Is the demon howling
Inside of me
nja Jan 27
It started off with some blues,
coz every panting night’s gotta start somewhere.
She took him by the hand and dragged his lanky limbs past the pub,
in the back alleys she read him poisonous poetry until they were both drooling.
She wrapped him up tightly in her furs,
he stopped breathing.
He was hers.
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