Stand strong little flower
       No matter what bothers
             Even if you're different
                   From Others

There's no one better
      Yes love might not
             Last forever

But continue to
   Smile even all of
       The "the ends"
   And "Ever After"

I feel as though I wade through the sickly gait
of butter
mind cast deep into the sea,
searching for a coast covered in fog
barely able to make out
the craggy blades of rock
of that world I forgot

It is imprisoning,
stuck aboard a cork of reality
suspended above a chasm of inconsequentiality
that dives unfathomable below
into sickly dark secrets of dreams and
excitable interactive equations
that lead me towards some inevitability

Maybe this is the special sauce,
that radioactivity
that racks my skull
pushes me beyond the world
and into the dreamland of poets

"Dream, dream until you sleep,"
but I have so much to see,
someone to meet,
you told me!
Why lie?
Why die!?

Maybe its all unreal
maybe its all a sheen
a fake shear curtain
so thin,
impossible to see

White and fuzzy and tickly
down my spine
my lower back
my spleen
my scrotal sack
its everywhere
and I don't know what you are
God, help me

I am getting angry
devil is taking the wheel
and wants to drive me off a cliff
or into some abyss
of mind
and I want to let it
I want to be normal again
only a week ago
maybe never
but my god when do we ever feel healthy?

I haven't seen a soul I love
in far too many days
sinful attitude pushing me deep into the drift
and current events that carry me
into pools of vengeful rage
Take me out deep
among those glittering distant seas
Guide me into salvation
to comfort beyond sleep

I gave her thornless roses,
thinking there is space still for something
between those ageless hands.

Very nice, sir.
Never dear, never darling, never precious—
Such old words, she says.
She means: like lungs and gasoline,
we just don’t need them anymore.

But I get my smile.
Always do.
Measured, weighed, tested, and yet:
Brief eclipse, splash of night.

The model was a fresh Rita Hayworth, 1939.

Yes, very nice. Only, tell me, sir…
Do you remember?
When the world was cruel?

Later, when there is time,
I swear to start again.
I have had dreams of honeyed girls
and an end to fearing silence.

What is it
that you want from me?

Oh,
wild things.