Come, O' child of the West!
As the towers fall and the abbeys rust
And the rising glass facades of dust
Preach you lies and folly thus!

In these fronds of existentia
And those shackled souls scared to devise
Diviner's fall their way to sight

For an oculus of clear sky
shivers in green
For utopia never before seen

God, the amalgamate of rock
And every bullet fired lost
Some section of jewel created in you
And gave the ending her fair dues

The safest tree that grows
In empty valley and fair meadow
With dying breath of barren roots she screams
In sunder surrendered everything

As the child, clutched tightly to her breast
The waves of time, in pounding crests
A volley, a riot of thunderous fear
And whisper poison into thine ear

Do not despair, tis not your fate
For those with gold kept still to trade
In Perpetua your colonnade
Shall forever rest that fair maid.

Walk this way
Take it from the river down in the east
A place down the west
Taking the troubles of my mind
Johnny has gone south
With his guitar in the wind
The hearing's tomorrow Summer
Where's the bride
She's in court for the hearing
It's Bonnie And Clyde
And the sea of dreams
Turning upside down
There representation of something unique
A pleasant hook
Of reality
There is a pressure to create
And develop the time, I **** and feel
I know and breathe
Among Murderers And COnvicts
As one person among the dead
As many in dread
As many dread my exorcism
The hollow breaths
The ghastly sharp sensations
The terrible tools of simpletons
These ghosts just sift through your river Styx
Like me

Poem Analysis

1st read, I thought gibberish,
2nd I thought Hmmm,
3rd I thought interesting,
4th I felt genius.  billy


your poem comment-dissects my poem
my process,
a marathon interview for a new poem pole position,
limb by limb, word by word,
chewed and re-chewed,
like a tiring piece of bubble gum,
the flavor remaining ebbs, but is not extinguished,
and can live in your mouth,
forever

and the praise and this poem,
not a rodomontade,
for your comment dear Billy,
is the process description of a poet’s labor,
from word first to a baby’s birth,

gibberish into genius

emergent from first pain, then pushing, then tilled, at long last,
the dirtiest immaculate conception beautiful

billy reads my rambling, silly abstruse^ & wrote me:
1st read I thought gibberish,
2nd I thought Hmmm,
3rd I thought interesting,
4th I felt genius

this is a much loved critique
for I well recall each step of creation,
a summarizing parallel
that your words+genes replicated so well,
forgiving you a minor typo, Billy,

it was genus, not genius that you meant

(but then again, why quibble over a miscellaneous, harmless, delighting, tiny little  extra i...not me, said he, my muse ego )

Billy has gone gray dotted, but his dot, his comment,
with gratitude,
in me, he,
lives for ever

I feel gibberish coming on...