O beauty in my horizon
You look at me like a thousand days
we've spent together, or
longer still.
You take pride in our gaze together.
You are the answer
to my every male instinct.
And there you recline,
as if you are made of starlight,
as if you've swallowed the moon.
Your neck has no point save
regarding me.
You are intent on setting
me aflame with desire for you.
My body aches to keep
its inner mojo.
Yet you snake around
my neck and seep into
my testicles.
You say "this is a test".
"For what?"
"You know" she replies.
"A test for me" she gives a second answer.
"To see if you can come on my star destroyer"
"Where does that lead?" I ask.
"To another time."
"A time when you're free."
Then Christ's neck holds me:
"Can you pray with Me, and stay resolute?"

Sigh.
Another night
that I might not know my pillow.

Are there more cookie cutter comments appearing
in response to odd
lines?

singer sang, from some open mic on Broadway,
in Nashville, or any remnant city,
you may remember witnessing at night,

looking out on rain slicked pavement,
reflecting stoplights and neon,

before the advent of mega-light emitting diodic
messages
urging any eye to pay a glance,
take chance
adventure into ignorance of the street

glistening in August rain, unaware the
singer singing

I imagine I imagined singin' in this bar.
Across the street from Pinkies,
which was just behind the
Ryman, temple of
my working class
spirit that won
the west, when we paved paradise,
and left yesterday in the dust,
or so we was told,

So some unknown singer sang
to an empty room,
but for the barkeep, there,
and me, listening from floor four of the empty
old furniture store at the corner of fourth
and
Broadway,
in Nashville, or any remnant city,
with an empty building available to bums, in 1973.
Where singers at open mics sang on Tuesday nights.

Singer sang,

I imagined I was all I imagine that I am,
and it seems I can be
if I make up my mind.
or so it seems so
It seems
I can be a singer in the spotlight,
on any given night,
when nothin' matters any where
when nothin' matters any where
when nothin' matters any where, and I don't care.

-- a remnant of a moment in any remnant city
still haunting my / thy
coulda beens, had we agreed it worth the effort
to realize
in time.

I close my eyes
The years are filled with tears
From jokes to heartbreak
Missing you to wanting you gone
I thought you were the one
But you were a test run
Showed me what I should want
A hand to hold in pain
Eyes liking everything they see
Laughing with, but not at
Kisses on every inch of me
All of that
Is what I need
What you could not give me

tiptoeing lightly on tiny feet
fidgeting quietly in your seat
snowflakes dancing through the air
imagine them landing in your hair

fingers tapping on your desk
eyeballs darting over your test
snowflakes laughing at your troubles
they laugh so hard your stomach bubbles

pencil markings from pencil tips
erased so hard the paper rips.
snowflakes watching the whole ordeal
while spinning around like wagon wheels

write your name, turn it in
let the outside fun begin
snowflakes dancing through the air
now they're landing in your hair

Arthur Lee was with me in Vietnam,
Forever Changes is the sound track behind the
******* and Radioman
and the old survivor grandpa guy who wont keep a gun in the house,
but knows where to get one,
if it ever comes to that,
again...
tri-alogues
never can say, they say, I don't know, I 'd say if I am as I think
I am able to say hey

Yahweh, could we know this the song Arthur Lee was
singing into a a can can we say
canwe wish we were there and not need

the pain. Cannon to the west of us, big one five fives,

rattle my walls, and I see the chameleons go green to blue

I was there, it was not scary... I survived,
got a dispensation

for being good for nothing.
I could not even give my life, without it coming back,

to help you stop imaging-projecting life could lose, if you ***** up.

Don't lie. Do that one, until it is habit, you have,
be having you as true known to you as true.
not imagined

no believed lie allows a shadow of turning on the moon...
nonsense, or not

accuse me of knowing satan is not a sentient being empowered
to punish me for thinks.
accuse me of being sure i know that.

I am the knower of truth as defined by

whose authority... mine. To thine own self, be true, I judge me,
you judge you, we each judge every message,

each signal, all the signs we give meaning to, as we learn,
everybody knows,

these are those days when everything changed
and we
overlooked our duty to prevent it.

We were sorta thinking peace is a makers thing, it can be made.

So I made some, and I still had some from yesterday,
so, if your world is fractured, you can stick some in the holes so

when wicked peace is out of the question, peace,
just peace,
not servitude, just peace, is possible,

on earth, 2020. There are these ideas, Eumenides... those
are on stage...

they know how revenge works. Mortals have no clue.
As all the literature testifies.