Darling, we're doomed
to a life of
extraordinary regularity.
Still, smile,
for the world's birthday is today,
and it will die as the moon rises.
The Force bends, lifts us up
from the tedium of madness
into an order of monks
who let their mole hairs grow long,
in order to purify the soul.
I breathe, slowly.
The world hums beneath me,
around me,
and within me,
and I look to you. You tell me,
"Hold me closer,"
and I listen, afraid of what you might do.
Still, I think to myself,
"This is nice," as you agree.
The angels fall over themselves with laughter,
raucous, cruel.

beware of those monsters
that lurk in the bottom of your head
if you give them more attention
it won’t be long until you’re dead

Somewhere beyond the hast of commerce,
where noises sing rather than shout.
I know of a place under a canopy of emerald leaves, haloed in the sun.
Creatures come to crawl and fly, soaking the bounty growing natural.

Moments of stillness blow soft, carrying stresses away.
It's a place owned by the trees, they bend to greet travelers weary of their cage.

A place I long to stroll,
where summer kisses all that lives
and wildness sprouts within

When the light bathes
       Naked is it's verues.


So shall purity
       Be dressed in light.


For when all
   Sings to the rising


Shall all be birthed
    Anew in mornings light.