in romeo
will gather in street here
with gypsum bandeau
that might shed such fear
with our dilatory cling

only where he'll sing
but anywhere nigh
in romeo

if a basket of groupers
never taser hinds
still heed the call
whether love will shine  
in romeo

You knew that for such yearning thirst

No sunlight rapture would suffice

When you created these poor eyes of mine

You were thinking of that eternal gaze

Enraptured by the endless deep

Just when I thought there wasn’t room enough
for another thought or poetry in my head,*

Up came this documentary poem
The Wednesday of May 24 was the day
President Trump meets with the pope Francis
at the Vatican: smiles and pleasantries aside
Who’s coming up with these lies?
Who have ties
with Russia and Putin?
We the outsiders are still unclear
about another golden buzzer:
But under a crystalline blue sky is where
Pope Francis and the President meet
Here I tipped my pen to
MARK LANDLER and JASON HOROWITZ
Reporting….
The fraught silence in political history

The mosquito doesn't know you -
you weren't introduced.

It doesn't have anything against you.

It doesn't care.
You could be the queen,
or the pope,
or **** Jagger,
or a freshly squeezed into this world baby..
In fact, it couldn't care less who you are.

The mosquito is just doing its job.

Just like you are "doing yours",
every day.

Right?

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugRTATKO0WI]

Blasphemy
and
what does the Holy See
say about it?

Nothing I could put into print,
them priest ain't skint
when it comes to verbal badinage
what with them being
au fait with bad language today,

when you mock
their reply is
'put a sock in it'

They only swear on the bible
according to a reliable source
in the Vatican,
but then again
sources
are liable to lie.

ps: Vespers ain't scooters either

Af all the ecstasy one can enjoy
As if with no soul
Left in some gutter while *******
              watching them go by
Flames the night to all sorrow
Hookers doing their nightly and noble
Act
An escape from the brutal
frenetic evil
My lonely nights
Of vagrancy of thought and action
Alike
The intoxicating smell of lost lives
Pipes empty of crack
The desperate look of a tormented desire
Floating the dense fog that slashes your eye

Bureaucrats and clergymen
differ only in doctrine.

But their altars steam
with the blood
of untold innocents.

The Pope, Stalin, and ******—
all canvass the people
with warped visions
of Paradise.

(Oh, Celan, you saw it
too well.)

Bloodletting for peace...

Pitchforks stoke the fires
to make dainty foot warmers
for Moloch and Midas.

Who needs another saint?
Not ***** Holly, she's doing okay
without them. Her ***** is home to many men,
her ******* brought thousands dead to life,
Her mouth and her ***
do miracles! And she always says: I should be saint!
I deserved it, for ******' sake!

Who needs another saint?
Not Jake, a murderer,
no one and nothing can help him.
And he can't help himself. He tried twice,
but he failed. The rope wasn't strong enough.
He hates saints. He says it's them
who make him a sinner. A murderer. He says
they tapped the rope.
Who needs another saint then?

Pope.

Leftovers...
Sometimes they eat just like a gourmet rocket ship
landed on the moon
And other times
Well, other times...
They could be the last stop just before the garbage can
The real Last Super.. After..
Realization.
.....for crimes that had never been comitted

If The Word says.. "I love you.. "
Which one woild it be?
Garbage returned?
Or
Garbage dumped out?

Pure Essence of Life..
pouring thru the space between fingers...
Now forgotten hand's Divine Givingness

Judas Price
Gold for Some
And bloods watery emptiness  for others
****** for Greed

Death of Christ

Tears are the realness of a Mothers Touch taken away
Witnessed, by God's Own Law,  Compassion.
Are their any who passed?