there once was a beer named Corona
preferred by the youth with ‘persona’
they drank it with pride
but today they would hide
delight  has turned into a moaner

When the eastern winds are freed
On vast fields of scattered seeds
In a season of smoke and fire
One million and more is dire

To themselves each flower keeps
While those close bequeath a wreath
As minds burn and mine burns
Buddies piled high for urns

When the eastern winds roam free
On the lands of the north Atlantic sea
We'll live days and nights of doom
When the wild Bergamots bloom

inside of the inside out
or outside looking in
inside i have no doubt
but outside its within

kept out, right side in
what is it all about?
doesn't start until i begin
to let the inside out

Oh William, Oh William
The Franciscan Friar
Oh William of Ockham
Who deems thee a liar?

If the solution is simpler
Then it ought to be right
But not... not for love's hurt
That I crave in my lonely plight

Oh William, Oh William
Wild roses and briers
Oh William my brother
Princes, Kings and Choirs

Alstroemeria, Southern-rooted watcher of the skies,
Angel tongues of Peru, with your ******-blushed annunciation
Or Incan-hued sacrificial fire.
So much like the moon tongues of all rivers in first frost or first harvest.  

Like first love, first death is the truest form,  
And blooms in scorn of all its many-mirrored rivers to come.