It's as a sun grew from my cornea just to announce the arrival of Vaughn Pass and Bantry Bay. I slithered past An Cillinach- a gravesite void of tombstones, set aside for unbaptized babies and anonymous foreign nationals as if the decision in death were anyone else's choice. I sat and joked with sheep, who gazed like pseudo pioneers across the Irish landscape while casually waste plopped from behind as if their ******* were mouths and they were simply breathing. Exhale. The sun came and went between friendly cloud cover, tug boats that looked almost larger than the islands in the bay made me wonder if I was dreaming. Hills of golden brown phased into green and greenish blue and each little house in the distance shone like unnatural gemstones protruding from the Earths crust, rooted in the mantle, as if humanity were mother natures toothy smile, and today she was just glad to be alive.

If I'm not careful, I'm going
to love you until you have
nothing left to love.

49 years old, names Eugene.
We talk politics like a plane
doing laps over planet ours,
North Korea threatens bursts
of lightening and Irish businessman
defaults on debts to UlsterBank in
the mighty Americas. He tells
me to guess his age and to be
nice I take a medium sum of
35 (white lies). He tells me
why he looks so young at
49 and tries to sell me a healthy
soul as if he were an angel of loves-
yerself or a devil
of capitalism pecking at
exposed heels. Tells me
he used to be drawl, pizza-
faced, suicidal before
production loved a spiritual
lung. Tell me what! Tell me
WHAT!
When life gives you lemons,
hug the lemon tree. Seems
the angels have sold out and
they're nice enough.