So early this
Sunday morning.
Birds are singing.
Big church bells
I hear ringing.
My bed feels so cozy.
Pull my blanket over
my shoulder.
Turn around before
I get colder.
Love this slowy waking up.
Drink my coffee while
it's nice and hot.
The sun is shining through
my window.
Shines and give my skin
such a warm glow.
Time will pass along the way.
Wishing you all a sunny Sunday.

nothing is trite, nothing is optional
waited and waited and to the heavens
no prying notion, not even a fear escapes
the mind's tricks or worry that phrases
could be repetitive-

exuding the forces of the world
legs and arms and eyes and mind
there are not dactyls to measure
such words, when the words do not
yet exist.

There is no unfinished ends that need soldering,
I sent the letters in my last life. The one where upon me
You crept up and looked at the chasm and held the rocks
From my pockets in your hands, and took off my robe.
I don't even know how long I'd been staring into the deep
Insanities of The Plateau, counting sheep, and hedging bets,
Slowly going completely into the Pacific, rising and bowing
Inside the blooming ripples of those fourteen foot waves that
Never made the break wall. Maybe it was I colliding with
Those enormous ships of victory I envied that bore the flags of
China and tore away from the coastline.

I don't care what you say, I believe it was you calling.
Beethoven could have heard the call.
In fact, he did. It's the odes of joy.
Don't get hung up on improper word use,
There will be time for us to write each other's sentences,
Build one another's dictionaries, and bend who's and what's, where's,
How's, and why's.

What azurean universe lives in the cornucopia of pulchritudinous lumens
That shape your eyes? What language is it that spoke its creation? Teach Me the languages that breed the shaky and vibrant voices of rock and roll.
The ridges inside the tide that bring the sea life to live. I will, I will hunt Dinosaurs and Guitarasaurus Rex will hang its Ray Ban wearing head of Enormous proportions out of the deciduous treeline to dazzle us with
The gorgeousness of delta blues rock and pre-Cretaceous 50s icon pop
While we slide on the wooden floors having our sock hop.

Seussing us up into a pinwheel of onomatopoeia
And nightscape of stardust, song, and merriment.
The beginning of a memoir, the counting back of hours like
Driving with the Ferrari California's gears in reverse to shed
Off the extra mileage, or swim in salt water pools, and drink
Pink and orange aeviternal eves and the groves of lavender, lilac, and Streaming cerise bands of light entomb these two lovers in the Mesmerizing drove of morning, upon some moon-draped porch
Some Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday in
Satirical snow-covered and 50º Chicago.

Say I can play guitar and I can play guitar
But only when we're teaching we,
Sunday thru the ends of years
And the offspring of those years.
Back from the hours, unlocked by the tides, and
Hemmed to the interstices of fingertips and
Internal yearnings for olives and olive juices.
Eves, morns, and the 33 hour day.
Where in your enchanting cadence of life
All is well, extending beyond good and beyond okay:
excelsior. Since our bonds coalesced just this past Sunday.

For Saranell

Talk to me about flowers and fires.
The orchids
of our collected youths
are bleeding into rose water
and being smashed into books.
For a little look
like a picture stretched under a slide
hiding, elfin to run back away from us.

In the hearth of us we wonder
what the charcoal will draw next.
Sticks on the banks of the styx
In it’s flicking midst
I can almost see
the little beat-less heart
in the center of the cherry.
It’s like it’s still held still in pursed lips.

In a falling little flame
accidently spilling it.

Out in Saturday mornings.
Out of school
so sliding in our nose rings.
Skiving by lying
with fist rubbed eyeballs.
The swell,
Then the classic sweetness
of the re-sleep.

Marker pen graffiti.
Feeling like elitists
because we don’t like elitists.
Defeatist is in right now, love's yet a fable.
(Planets are *****) on physics tables,
and writings on my hands,
but **** it man,
I won’t remember them, anyway.

Blurry nameless kisses
tasting like French lager,
or is that me?
Bellybutton shots.
Love at a coin toss
or against a brick wall was at it's best.
But there’s room for two
in this tent full of burn-holes.

Iron maiden.
never paid but
in microphone coldness
on the lips.
Lifted on the fix.
Giving the week in a night
and taking the night for a week,
with velocity.

Headbanger’s neck on
the pen-bottle ****, being used,
being used up.
Swimming against the river.
Golden Virginia,
Sobranies in the bus shelter.
And as the day's screen goes over
we still kept the bonfire
running in the rain.

That's what talks to me.
I'm laying back,
but moving forwards,
involuntarily.

I have so many words for you
Words of truth
Words that tip toe
to the top of my tongue
plunge themselves into my lap
like folded love notes
I am not too nervous to give it to you
I'm far too nervous that I'll have to take it away
Now I understand why women cry during marriage proposals
The laboring and long suffering of getting to know yourself
then trusting yourself with someone else
is enough to make anyone cry. ❤️

सिखारनाय एमनि उनाव
गोसोआ गोजान जायो
फरायसालि,फरायसालिमा,माख'बायदिनि
गामाखालिनि बादि हांखुर जाय
दिनैनि सानाव।


उन्दै उन्दै गथ'फोर
रंजायो खारदिङो फोथार गामि दुब्लि
जोबथेजानाय फानजारिनि दाउ
उदाङै बिरनाय बादि।
गावनि मावनां हाबाखौ दान्दिसे दोन्थ'ना।


गासै सुबुंआनो दिनै
गावनि मासिखौ एंगारथ'ना
जिरायथ'दों दिनै गोदान मासियाव दान्दिसे
दिनैनि बे उदांसार सानाव।


आंबो दिनै बावगारदों मुगासे
उन्दै गथ'फोरजों रंजाफादों गोसो हगारसारना
जिउनि बुब्लि दान्दिसे खुसि बोन्थुमना।

Here comes another wave
from the Sunday Sun,
shutting my eyes
so my memory
can seal it.

It's another day
with my soul on
the run, walking
barefoot on the
tar just to feel it.

It's another way
for my mind to ponder,
waiting for my
life to paint a
picture, so I
can see it.

I'm just another slave
to my thoughts
and I wonder
where it will all
lead to if I leave it.

OH!
What feeling compares to the warmth inside these bones
when I awake at Dawn to a still house,
and comfortable bustle awaits
There is none!
no other mornings compare to such
what with floating voices and metaphoric hugs
a sunday to its monday; disparate
and i'd make the hours stretch if i could
like a Dough prepared for
round laughter
to be enjoyed with glasses of
tall bliss
every Eye i meet glimmers
Glimmers!
with amity to spare
and the Earth around is brimming
Brimming!
with wonder I cannot describe to you
in words
an ode
to sundays worth living for