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The magic of that line-
Drawn in crayon-
Calms and excites:
Renders everything else
Meaningless and Infinitely Consequential.
Up* I go
In a swift motion-
to float there,
high,
where meaning and representation
are transcendental.
Only to drift back down,
Gently, rhythmically,
Like a fat, fluffy feather
In a barn stall full
Of day old chicks.
A soft yellow glow,
Sleepily chirping.

Up until recently
man, my life has been tragic
people were drawn to me
like I'm some kind of magnet
and instead of the last
I accepted the first
and of all of types of souls
I attracted the worst
and I used to blame fate
for how things used to be
but now I realize
that it's all up to me
but I hurt all the ones
that were trying to help
told me I thought of them
when it was all myself
and so I was convinced
that I could do no wrong
blamed them all for the things
that were me all along
I thought myself a God
but I was just a clown
and the walls I built up
soon came crumbling down
seen that nothing I'd built up
had actually lasted
and I suddenly realized
almost if by magic
that the seeds that I planted
would all start to grow
so I'll put in the hours
and reap what I sow

though quite dramatic,
and quite active,
and quite loving.

Love is an action;
less a feeling,
less an idea,
less a word.

A silver feather
It floats through sensual air
The songs of kissing