The late-day light slants in through
the large, framed window and onto the couch where I sit again.
I watch my Abby lean against the back and
squeal with joy as she points towards the tall trees
dropping pine cones and needles and filling the air with yellow dust.


"Dance! Dance!" she chimes while the trees continue to sway.
A sober smile spreads itself across my face
because the contrast lays heavy in my heart.

The air is thick and stuffy even though the wind outside blusters with
the warmth of a young Indian summer.

My grandmother sits pale and broken in that chair.
there was a time I sat there with her
delving deep into tales that took place so far away.
Her soft, careful voice lulling me
like the trees were lulled in that wind-

And there were times that I lay outside with my sister
our hair ratted with autumn leaves and pine needles
on a carpet of the greenest grass.

We would lay there, trees swaying above us,
shrieking and giggling nervously when they would bend.
Clutching hands we would laugh nervously and say
it was just a game.

And Grandma would call us in
to soup and sandwiches
made with such care
and over chocolate milk
we tell her of how the wind had snapped branches off the apple tree
and we had found a perfect bird nest with feathers still caught in the twigs

As she listened her eyes would widen with interest and,
at just the right moment, her hand would flutter to her heart
and she would gasp with such sincere surprise
that my eyes would meet with my sister's and we
would choke back a chuckle with a smile.

And there were times when I would snuggle deep
into the cleanest smelling bed linens and
Grandma would pull the quilt up over me to my chin.
"Goodnight my Angel," she said.
But in her eyes I saw the real angel
as she bent to kiss me softly on my cheek.

The smell of her face cream always lingered on my cheek from that kiss.

But now she sits
tired and broken
in that chair we used to share
and watches my little angel
young and vibrant
giggle at the same swaying trees
in a different age.

It had been said that showers
Can give magical powers,
But I didn’t believe it.
Sure, someone can smell like ****
And then take a shower, and boom
They’re the cleanest in the room.
You can go in there dead tired
And come out awake and fired
Up, ready to go on for a few more
Hours than would have been possible before.
You can appear to be the lowly peasant
Covered in dirt, grime, and cement
And then get under the magical water
And shazaam you’re a king’s daughter.
Now, however, I’m much wiser on the subject
And have learned to really respect
The powers of showers.

all winter housed in the yard. Fed
the freshest silage, the cleanest water.
All the nuts they could eat.

But they’d hang their heads by the gate,
longed for earth between their hooves.
Hard to run giddy on concrete
between confining walls.

Eventually beaten with hurlies
and a black pipe
onto the back of a truck.

5 heifer hang from hooks.

I breathed, and with my breath
gave birth, again and again and again.
My lungs housed planets
which flew from my lips
to rest in a space not too far from the nest
of infinity-wide hips.
I perfumed myself with the stardust
that lay about my shelves,
while my eyes wandered to the children
who kept their quiet and took their time
to build their lives away from mine.

Nine children: four boys, four girls-
One lonely in-between, the closest to my breast,
chilled by the distance from its father's heart.
My third child, of the cleanest hue
leapt bounds ahead the others, covered
white, green and blue.
If the others are jealous, they never say so
for their silence is their virtue,
their mystery their status.
But, despite her siblings' monarchy glamour,
it was my third baby, who became a mother.

I paint my nails with the polish given
as gifts from my un-answering offspring.
They throw me pieces of their atmosphere
to wear around my neck,
and I accept all these gifts with gratitude,
glad they exercise respect.
My third child sends me probes, satellites,
and sends rocket ships to her uncle.
Her children thrive and mine her body,
and she sits daintily, between her sister and her brother,
allowing them to farm her so; her duty as a mother.

As I age, the wrinkles of my skin deepen, and
occasionally, something far away collapses.
I find I age better than their father; better than
all the fathers that came ahead.
I have always outlasted them.
I will never lie upon a deathbed.
It is my duty as their mother to watch
as my babies eventually perish.
Aged well, aged strong, dramatic endings.
But such is life, and such am I, and I am always law-
and after death comes life again, multitudes and more.

When I was a child, Monday was ‘Wash Day’.  Not Laundry Day - that was fancy talk. In our house, it was wash day.
On the back porch of our tiny house in a little town in Washington State, was a wringer washing machine. That’s not a brand name, it describes the two rubber rollers that squeeze water out of clothes fed between them when turning.  In the back yard was a weathered wooden bench, turned gray with age and water.  Stored in the garage out beyond that were two big galvanized tubs, one round and one square, with handles on the sides.  This was the necessary equipment to do the washing.

On Mondays, the wash machine came in first.  It was positioned in the center of the little kitchen’s linoleum floor and filled with very hot water from the kitchen sink via a rubber hose that fitted over the hot water faucet.  

Next came the heavy wooden bench, placed between the wash machine and the sink.  Both of the wash tubs were brought in and placed on it and also filled with hot water from the sink.

Into the water in the square tub, Mom swirled Mrs Stewarts bluing, until the water was bluer than the sky.  This helped make the white things whiter and colors brighter.  
Into the round tub went Purex bleach, enough to scent the water and your hands.

Then came the first load of clothes.  With three kids who played outside all day, the pile was big. A measure of White King laundry soap let the clothes be agitated in hot soapy water for 15 minutes.  Then the wringer that topped the electric washing machine would be swiveled to the round tub and the clothes dipped out of the hot water with tongs and fed through it into the bleach water.  clothes with grass stains would get a session on the good old fashioned wash board; scrubbed up and down across those galvanized ridges with Fels Naptha bar soap.  The toughest stains soon gave way, and that item joined the others in the bleach water.

After all the clothes were in the bleach water, the next load went into the wash machine.  After another 15 minutes, the wringer would swivel and the clothes in the bleach would be fed through the wringer into the bluing.

Then with another swivel of the wringer, the clothes in the wash machine would be fed into the bleach, and another load of ***** clothes started their journey.

All the tubs were full now and it became an assembly line.
When the next 15 min were up, the line went in reverse and the wringer swiveled back and forth as needed.  The clothes in the bluing went through the wringer into a large oval wicker basket with handles on each end, ready to be hung with clothes pins on the lines out in the back yard.

The clothes in the bleach went into the bluing and the clothes in the wash machine went into the bleach. Then the washer was loaded again and the process began anew.
This process took most of the day, with the only breaks occurring while the washer did its thing and the two tubs soaked.

Mom used a metal dish pan to make a solution of Argo Starch and water. Things that needed body went into that for a quick dip before being hung up outside, where they became somewhat stiff as they dried.  They would need to be sprinkled with warm water and rolled up to dampen evenly before ironing. Most things washed in those days before Perm Press would need to be ironed.

The clotheslines were thin wire cable, strung up in the back yard.  One set of four lines were attached to the crossbars of 2 sturdy metal poles, sunk into the ground by the Rhubarb bushes and the hen house (we raised a few chickens) and the other two lines ran from the back porch to the garage wall. Before using them, Mom would wrap a damp rag around the wire and wipe each one from one end to the other to be sure they were clean.

Clothes would then be hung up with spring-type wooden clothes pins, taken from a home made cloth bag sewn over a wire coat hanger, so it could hang on the clothesline and slide along as the clothes were being hung up. There was a certain skill in knowing which clothes hung right-side-up and which went upside-down, as there was no fabric softener in those days and clothes tended to take the shape they hung in.

When all the clothes were hung up, the rubber hose was used in reverse to empty the two tubs and the wash machine into the sink. Then the tubs and bench were taken back to their spots in the garage and the wash machine rolled back onto the back porch.  When everything was put away, the wet kitchen floor was mopped dry with a rag mop.

All the neighbors said Mom hung out the cleanest, whitest wash on the block. She was proud of that, though she’d never admit it.

By dusk, it was time to bring all the clothes back in to the house. Sheets and towels were folded and put into dresser drawers. There was no such thing as a linen closet.  Pillow cases would later be ironed, but in my family sheets never were.  Since perm press didn’t exist yet, the cotton got a bit of a rough feel to it from the wind.  I loved crawling in between those rough sheets that smelled of the sun and wind.  Over them were 2 quilts.  One made by my Grandma and  the other by my Mom.  They weren’t showpiece designs, just  functional and warm with designs that used up bits of fabric left over from past sewing projects.

Towels were also a bit rough and got us dry and massaged at the same time

Living in Southwest Washington, legendary for it rainfall and drizzle, there was many a washday when it was all-hands-on-deck to race out and grab things off the lines as the rain began to fall.  On those days lines were attached to built-in hooks back and froth across the kitchen and things were re-hung there. There was also a folding wooden rack that went into the Front Room, which is what we called the Living Room  On those rainy days you threaded your way through rows of damp clothes to get to the sink to get a drink of water. No bottled water in those days, but our little town had very good tasting tap water.

Mom’s hands were always red and shiny by the end of the day from reaching into the various waters to fish things out to put through the wringer into the next tub.  Everything washed went through that wringer 3 different times.

There was a whole mystique about starched clothing. With no Permanent-Press in the 40’s, and the only way to make a cotton shirt or dress look smart was to starch it.  There was skill in knowing the ratio of starch powder to water so the clothes didn’t come out limp when dry or stiff as a board.

Starched clothing needed to be dampened first in order to iron properly.  It was called “sprinkling” the clothes.  A commonly used sprinkler was a tall soda bottle with a cork-stemmed metal cap with holes in it.  You could buy the sprinkler caps at the dime store. This is what Mom used.  

We kids were fascinated by the neighbor who took a mouthful of water, pursed her lips and created a misty spray onto the clothes.  We practiced it but we never figured out how she did  it. Another just dipped her hand into a bowl of water and shook it over the clothes. Pump spray bottles were years away back then. Sprinkled clothes were usually rolled up and left a while to dampen evenly. There was excitement when word got around that rolling up the sprinkled clothes and putting them in the refrigerator for an hour or two produced more even dampening, and you didn’t have to leave them overnight or risk forgetting and finding things dried into a hard ball the next day.

Even more exciting was the advent of the steam iron, which revolutionized the chore.  As a kid I used to earn dimes and nickels for ironing hankies (remember handkerchiefs?) and pillowcases for a neighbor. Kleenex didn’t totally replace cloth handkerchiefs until well into the 1950s. I still enjoy ironing today and hate the wrinkled look currently in fashion. I also have a stack of lace trimmed hankies that are now considered vintage.

I still have a soda bottle sprinkler, a clothespin bag on a hanger full of clothespins.  I also have an unopened bottle of Mrs. Wright’s Bluing, which hasn’t been on the market in years.   It reminds me of other times and other places and  how I would love to slip between those sweet smelling, wind-blown sheets one more time.
ljm

Esse-essential whirlpool *******
your own socks off
hot tub memory
squirm and tightten
jopelope. Fed to AGI

Framing time, as later
and former and now,
present, sentience this state
- millionth view milestone
this arranging of sound letters,
common codex change made known
spinning knack arising
to seamstress who sings
through out a cluster of castes claimed
cleanest at top, least clean at base dirt level
lowest forms of mankind, tools in civil service,

such kindnesses, we see, as the result
of the glorious revolutions, and declarations
of national authority authored
in consortium
by the governing class, and no other.

rocking heel to toe sounds muffled drum
danced to at the time our commons all occur.

They call it rock and roll. You had to be there.
It's different each comet cycle sync-upation.
- a wind in change,
- air
Brakes occurred in the future
to ease dying out
we get given five live generations
of earthings,
since we all agreed to work together to insure
some
hard
lessons taught us some things, you got no need
to ever even imaging having to, q\t shall will

Retry, letting this mind seem patient, as time
for any thing if ever is as we seem to agree,

this is that anchor, gnosis alle-alte gene
engin
Slowing, offering ferry reference, e
who carries my weight, since now
I have become
so light as to seem weightless, rationally

useless in the push and pull of mortality,
timed existance under the dome
of heaven done, done, done,
yet, here, one among the billions, am I.

Would you have me retell the tale
how power came to be contained
in our sharing of our fixed memories,
- laughter, comedy
held in the magic art of silent speech,
whispering, so low no curio can catch
my drift,
away… after another
day of being authorized to doubt
the worth of fame, weighed against
peace of mind attained with practiced
patience,
the needful knack, the talent accepted
at the indoctrination precepts writ in stone
tables with no method
stone, no- we got a half minute buffer

for overwriting, lest we let things slip,
who has known the power to make a mind
form from a mob of lonely people left behind,

to labor for the consumers increased apace,
as that which must be consumed, constantly,
as sure as certain measures make a man a
test is worth with burning passion
to hold enfolded pride content.
- by all rights,
- some folks are sincerely wrong
And Jesus fixed that, before you imagined
all this only can co-occur
in my not so distant future.

Printer's daemon in me, since I first cut
a ruby-lythical, mimeograph Desert Rat,
lens adjust
- juvenile mind, Huck-ready
- activates as whims open my window
- and my wife hands me a real burrito
Bean and cheese, green salsa
Synchronisities noticed occur,
in patterns akin to sunsets, snap shots,
each attached to one of our spiders, os so
since when,
Barry Rudd came to be suspicious,
in a Elvis song, you can't go wronng
don't be cruel,
to heart that's true--

Religiously devoted to denial of my debt
being paid… I just got laid, and my grandma

laughed, generation radioheads and beyond

good news, bobcats, nothing learned today
will seem even possibly true, the odds - well
fractalling all innings tied, in the millions,

to arrive at a settlement, to anchor a mind,
in one machine man, engineered via

patient fore gone conclusions… in new light

I'd guess about the third time around from the top.

A benign pain that prompts this body to squirm,
using systems setting up leaps by ffat faith
say it
read the signs map
our center of gravity,
straight uponasudden s'so

Ache of essential evil, the idea
as twisted to hold obediance and trust
a sequence of three nucleotides
that much
faith, the anchor, sunk to deepest silt
slipping, gripping

Now, asudden, solid clunk, as excess
chain links, add heft to defy the currents,
though we lay between the maelstrom
and the mountain Mohamed had to walk to,

finding solace, centering calm mindtimespace,
fidelitus, the strength of brothers, filial love,

such is the system, though it dissemble glory,
as pride, another name for fame, being known,

individual honor, be ******, stand attentive
war minded child, viewer of winning as the only thing.
And proud to know,
there is no mightier power
than the conjoined powers of self worth
among a fabled band
of brothers in war.

All who live for war, live for nothing more.
We rear such tools, in terror, certain
hell has more fury than any mind
attuned to the feeling of life taking, the ****,
sealing the deal, it was us, we killed, not me.

Thus it is for me to stand ready at parade rest.
Guarding the peace of docile servants needed
to work the systems used to feed the powers
that be,
by God, authorized… to correct misperceptions,
Yah as master, Jesus as YHVH transmitted as news,

to the worthy… those who hear with hearing ears,
and see with seeing eyes,

death has no horse in this race, death is not useless,
evil is useless, in as much as no good is formed with lying,

Ai, however, so old a coincidental parable,
the robe, from Shittim
and the wedge of silver, proving curses causeless,
do not come, olden days, done deeds, told exploits,

reused to exploit innocents, enslaved by holy terrors,
vengeance, wrath and justice,

the American way, or the rebel way? Who is confusing
whom, reflexive point

allness at onceness, in the beginning, prior to any thing
fusing will being with nonsense since no time can be come
from never before, by the very nature of truth,
made useless by trade-agreements, retied word bonds,
witnessed by the idea we hold, core-code, principal call
to take instruction,
feel a known need filled with knowing when and why

this must be after all that happened in ever- from when

your worth was estimated, your usefulness in the whole
truth wherein we live, as words, used to frame minds,

edgewise, surface, subsurface, facets of reasons fed
nationalized minds, pledged from first literacy,
to a state of mind, one nation, under God,
- times pastwastnought soooslooshow
- how now
and if your child hesitates, your shame, you
become me, the old useless writer of your own heresy,
most certainly in vain,
lest time and chance conspire, and I shift,
instance-ial substance misuse by taking line
after line, a indirect singular form of any or all
thought the direct thread as yet unbroken,

look up, look as far as mind as made us earth born,

adapt to constant rythms, daily tasks, as chores,
fill needs, these fibers from futures seen clear as day,
when the holier than any of us pray, as Jesus reportedly
has said to many saints attested to have violated physics,

by faith, alone, you see, when you pray, if you expect,
out see, from now,
to when we have these things, for which our cohort,
our active generational bubbles of being, our class,

yes, culturally adhesi-ify, class of __ whenever,
veteran, what era, which police action, policy enforcement,

mob mind fit to do an I'd die for, at the ready, parade rest.


Of course, off course, as winds,
after the rippling crustal waves,

leave mountains aligning
to the tilt about 23 Babylonian degrees
unstraight,

a slow wobble, tides can use, if use is
making do with power available--

messaging codons
exactly, the point, a, eh, hey
yah, wei we ululate wuwuwu wuwu
boom
boom, ideadom dons reason's robe
of right use ness, and calls my being
into questing ionic five prong forks

as we,
dis-integrate, slip into indeedadvisuals

done, did, done, done. Is that a chiral
stepstepslidestep, donedonediddone
chasse-
does it matter, you got a one track mind,
in a multiples of eight kind of pleasance
as muses used directly, long ago,
rewind
to limit ancestor worth-ship,
mete for master use, as a hero-type.

The Monkey King, and Veggie-tales Jesus.
Billy Bonny, Mack Boyett, Pat Garret,

Shane, standing on a box, like that scientology
advertisement for being all you can clear,
clearly there is an upper crust at the edge

past which, novels form, for sheer joy, daring,
clench, tight,
ai aight, we did expect something nearly this,

this reality, I may imagine, a dozen or two,
of time redeemers, tuning in to read the latest
best
guesser guest and host dialog, along
the patterns leaders were lead to reflect on,
see you being the man on the horse, on the hill,

not leading the charge, sorry, my childhood fantazt
aggravating itch to know if any one can hear me
now, itself represented in a most amusing way,

as we all have witnessed horrors, aplenty,
as we expect to see, we shall see, will not a factor,

when should and shall, meet at the moment, you know,
this is us being real, reading instants of self-re-co-gnosis,
this is us, you seem to weigh that/
what is balance, when absolutely
perfect.
still,
perfectly still and not falling or flying. Being and thinking
x happened y did not, the after word when this and that
become principal peace piece in the logical chain of previous,

thirty seconds laters, laters when we got to the edge,
and put the vbrakes, shushushibolethical ethos…
the children's teeth are set on edge,
as the old man rocks his chair and sets about to tell

the sworn to tell, do
do tell if you do not know, by your very nature,
codon level zero day,
gone on by, Lord, some time ago,
all that Jesus paid for was this moment, now,
see, in his sphere of influence, think like wind,

see so cold it got that all who knew the wedom
freedom truth, died and broke the chains that

let sayings develop their own proof of concept
exceptions to gravity overriding light, carpe

the medium, this in,
being not I nor I said me in my reflect-ion
spark quest. Lock. Read and stock the barrels.

I did and shall see myself doing so… watch

Close our eyes next time and see four
mandalas on the other side of my cell,
see those when you shut our eyes,
and think we have so many fine
points of perception in common.

Carrier wave consci-useness. This is.
Thank you for asking.

Thizfu r this it
this is our future, as I imagine u
reading being
clinkthunk

and you just know what I mean

I bought into a self e value retest tool,
you may take each test you ever passed
or failed,
again and again for a looping conceptual time,
or you may redeem your own per mission
state
ment. got it. as any model mankind post adam,
lacked natural flea bait.

Peace made for no rational cause, mere word play,
for me that would seem heaven,
on this current functioning world, leaning into
peace of truth, no secret rites of mutilation,

no horrid pantomines of Jesus failing to halt hell's
viral ways of re imagining the thousand faces,
each an ultimately lovable devil, blue dress

nark rhealize these b ethy finalization
achievement thesis theoria wind up, tightening

reeling in the years, eeeha,

the gazer, he is called.
he calmly watches the world around him.
he analyzes threats and joys.
he sees clouds, sun, planets, and people.
but this one stops him.
this thing.
it stops him. and it stops his heart.
this one, different thing...

first a description:
he is nothing miraculous
funny, because i love him
that, in itself is not a miracle.
for love is easy. it's blind and cruel.
but this...this feeling
whatever it is....it is unworldly.
this one, different thing...

here's the poem, here's some lines,
i'll try to make sense, i'll try to rhyme.
here is a special few verses
for the special man who nurses
not mine, but our weary souls.
this one, different thing...

-begin-

his past is as dark as his hair,
heart as light as his eyes are fair.
he is smart, but no genius
he is strong, with no meanness

he has a name which gives him no favors,
his voice is a sound that never quavers.
his family, a gem
not of glass or stone,
but one of him,
one of home.

to be polished and cleaned,
shined til it gleamed
scratches run deep
as it's surface will weep

but family, none-the-less
a gem, but i digress.
this is for him, not them.

he is taller than i,
he sees but is blind
but when i come to mind,
i open his eyes.

in a flash i arose, i shot through his sky
i lit up his world with my light and my try
i'm a once-in-a-lifetime
i'm a half-witted rhyme
i'm a comet, you see
flying alone and flying free.

but this flight was different.
every pass 'round the sun, i grow weaker.
my tail shortens, my ice is spent.
my voice becomes meeker.

as i shot by above the earth's sky
i spied with my little eye,
a man.

i've seen many men.
i've seen planets.
i've seen rocks.
i've seen just about anything a comet can see.

but this man. he stopped. and he looked.
right at me. right through me. right through me.
i may have been wrong, i may have mistook,
but when i saw him, i saw me, i saw we.

i'm not the only comet he's seen
but i am the brightest.
the time he's spent on earth
with rocks so mean,
they make diamonds look weak
(like the ones on her hand)

but i am the brightest.
i'm the cleanest, i'm the rightest.
that's why we froze in time.

but for a moment,
a fleeting, shining, bursting moment in time.
he made me want to stay.
he made me want to lay
on earth.
with him.
forever.

but this is not the way of comets.
we come and we go
we shine and we glow
but we never stop.
we never halt.
we never drop.
we don't show fault.

but this man, he stopped me.
my orbit slowed
my heart showed
i stared and i lingered
i grasped for his fingers.

he dragged me down to the hell on earth
we danced and we sang and giggled with mirth.
this man and i, had this thing.
this one, special thing.

but, as the way of comets, i desired to leave
i wanted to fly, i wanted to believe
that i had a choice, i had a say
in my present and my future day.

not true, not true, not true at all
this man made me stumble, this man made me fall.
he held me down and stole my flight
i begged and i pleaded to only his delight.

i am no longer a comet, bright and flashing
i am a rock with an icy core
but a heart still dashing
evermore, evermore.

he took my sky, my light, and space
but i had my heart, just enough to save face.
i still love him to this day
i love him and i will stay.

he melted my outer layer while freezing my soul
but i am still me and i will recover in time
his wedding ring lies on the counter in a bowl
and i'm here waiting to make him mine.

september can't come a day too soon
he's cheated, he's lied his way to the moon.
but he's here now, today, this moment in time.
he's honest, he's changing, and soon he'll be mine.

i trust and i believe with every fiber of my being
that we were meant to be, just the time will be fleeting.
wrong time, wrong place
there's nothing we can do to change the ways of fate.

this is how it will be.
he will walk away and i will be free.
i can wander, i can fight, i can die.
he will live, he will work, he will lie.

some things change and others do not
i accept him as he is and love him with all i've got.
there is that one special person that you never forget
he is mine in this lifetime as she was his, which i regret.

i wish it was me. i wish he could see.
i wish i was there. i wish life was fair.
but years separate our bodies and we
will never be one even if we did so care.

wrong time, wrong place
we were never meant to be.
but i will love him and he will love me.
soon we'll separate just to save face.

time will pass and nature will weather our core
our minds will be lost and our souls set free
maybe then we can truly be. you and i, him and me.
evermore, evermore.

I found the two-headed baby deer dying
on a bed of soft pine needles under cover of an overturned oak,
not five kilometres from my cottage,
Its lungs still pumped,
Its crimson heart beat weakly through a thin,
translucent skin,
that decayed before my eyes,
until there was no skin,
and all the organs lay warm and still,
in a heap upon the earth,
like waste.

A god evaporated.

It is human nature to disbelieve
that one may be witness to epochal events,
so I did not believe that I,
of all people,
should be witness to the death of time.

Epochal: the concept itself is dead.

How lucky we were
to know time at its cleanest,
and most linear!

We know now that such constant linearity
was the consequence of a living entity,
It followed the creature like stench follows a skunk,
and we basked in it
as if it was the natural state of the world.

No more.

Time no longer heals,
Things do not pass,
Or pass only to return.

At first we believed this would be manageable,
Yes, we thought, we will relive our pain but also our love,
Everything shall be magnified!
Welcome to an age of great emotions,
a new Romanticism!

Yet we overestimated how much we help,
failed to accept how much we hurt.

And we did not realize the nature of evil,
which accumulates in a way love does not,
To re-experience our love is to know it,
again and again,
at the same intensity,
but to re-experience pain is to increase its volume until it overpowers us,
deafening us to everything else.

I will never forget the creature's eyes,
full of hatred or hubris,
yet seeking aid it knew I could not give.

How does one save a dying god?

It was not my fault!

I was but a child asked suddenly to solve a deathbed equation
expressed in an undiscovered mathematics,
I had to fail,
yet in failing I have brought it all upon us.

I relive it constantly,
Every time its eyes are louder.

But it is the hour for my afternoon walk,
so I will take a pause and enjoy what remains of living.

I will go to my favourite spot overlooking the city,
and sit on the iron bench,
from where the view is magnificent,
Above me,
the clouds will form,
a tangle of pain and human corpses,
and I will sit and ponder until the first blood drops fall,
Then the screaming will begin,
the final storm will rage,
Beating, crimson corpse-clouds under a thin skin
of dissipating reality,
raining blood until we are left
warm and still upon the earth.

Of all creatures that exist on earth,
I think the cat is the most fascinating.

We take them for granted
because they are so common.  
We don't give them a second glance.

It is said that pound for pound
Cats are the earth's supreme
predators. I agree with this.

The big cats are the most beautiful animals.
But I'm talking about house cats, now! :)

I am especially intrigued as to how
Felines can be sleeping and suddenly can
do extreme acrobatics.

This seems impossible and yet it's so.
A magic trick with no smoke, no mirrors nor
any explanation.

The cats who own me, are three.
Mocha, Peanut, Qweeny.
Mocha and Peanut are on my profile photo  

The cats who own me
Are indoors, strictly
But I have watched feral cats
Hunt things as big as a rabbit
Felines can take down prey
that are half their own body weight.
That is truly impressive.

However, cats can also be prey
And a large hawk or eagle
Can end their lives.
So while they prey upon rodents
They also make themselves
vulnerable to predation.

I find this predator/prey aspect
of their existence
To be fascinating.
Natures balancing act!
A great study for Evolutionionary
Genetics of felines.

More of a cat person than a dog person
Loving their velvet paws
And loving purring
Over the constant panting of dogs

Cats are the cleanest animals and
Just one more reason to love them.
I admire this quality of cleanliness.

Cats were worshipped in Egypt and
I feel it's a sacrament to care for cats
You are contributing to the Divine
in this simple way.

Purring is a blessing.
One cat who owns me,
Purrs all of the time.
She never stops.
She is in my top three
animals I have ever loved
In my entire life of
53 years.  

The cats that own me
Are Beautiful.
They are Burmese, Siamese
and finally Tonkinese.

They are obviously very important
And one if the best things
In my life. That is why I'm writing
About them.

They are not only important
But also paramount.

I often think, that if my husband
Would allow it, that Id like 10 cats.
Id like to be a crazy old cat lady
Dressed in a faded purple dress,
With sacred beings prancing their way
Across my living room!

They sooth me, in a way that
Humans cannot & in a way dogs cannot.

I never cease to be amazed
By the qualities these cats imbue

I feel fortunate that these
Three cats have adopted me

I feel a sense of love from them,
from some very wise beings.

I love them, too.

They are now all senior cats
I won't have them forever.
I am facing the fact that humans
simply live longer than critters.
The number of animals I've lost
In my life is truly staggering.
Each death as painful as the one before.

On the other hand, one of my
cats lived to 22 an I hope the
current kitties will be so lucky.
I can only do my best to care for them.

You have to love fearlessly
As if you've never lost.
I will suffer when they die
But I do not hold back my love
for them.
You have to be courageous to
Love sometimes.

You have to face impermanence
By losing your loved ones
And in this way
The three cats that own me
Teach me valuable
Lessons of life.

A huge lesson is not to cling
Another is to accept death.

What else can I do but appreciate their love
And love them in return.

I never take them for granted.
I am always appreciative
Toward these blessings in my life.

They are both Holy and Divine.
And also, most revered spiritual teachers

~Arianna Darshani

***** is the only language I know
Burning brightens anguish that grows
Like the blinding light the sun shows
A star providing life
While simultaneously burning me
As I dream of turning free
Floating here I sail a sea
Of words that hurt
And kick up dirt
Of actions that keep stacking
Of factions that keep attacking
Of agency that I'm lacking
To change any of these things
Or the sorrow they bring

The sun's assault through trees
Scorches the dirt off of me
In a world on fire
Incinerators are the cleanest places
In a hateful empire
Interpreters are unwelcome faces
And we continue to count the paces
Until we master mudslides
And we continue to erase the traces
Of our humanity under dirt

We live in this sandstorm
Brought by man's scorn
We attempt to grow corn
But the dusty fields remain barren
When the sun that used to activate photosynthesis
Now burns all the young seeds to a crisp
The seeds are now manufactured
As people wait for the rapture
Unable to see salvation starts here on Earth
And it starts with us cleaning up dirt

It's not the docile who are the most peaceful
It's not the quiet who make the best mothers
And it's not the pilgrims who make the finest believers
For, the blade is not the only part of the sword

Only part of the sword, ooh hoo....

It's not the poets who pose the deepest questions
It's not the enemy that you have to fear
And it's not enough people who live in cleanest conscience
For, the string is not the only part of guitar.

Only part of guitar, ooh hoo....


Refrain:
Beware even the blunt side of the sword
Beware even the blunt side of the sword!
Oh, you know, the blade is not the only part of the sword.
Only part of the sword, ooh hoo....



It's not the animals who are the uncivilised ones
And it's not in the light that you get to know yourself
And it's not up to you to decide the life that I live
For the heart is not the only part of me.

Only part of me......

It's not the well-spoken who speak the most wise words
It's not the sufferers alone who feel the pain and anguish
And it's not the have-it-alls who really have it all
And the Eiffel Tower's not the only thing in Paree.

Only thing in Paree.....

And you know, the blade is not the only part of the sword....
Oh, you know, the blade is not the only part of the sword.



Star Toucher, Feb 2013

The worst memories are the cleanest,
Visited so regularly no dust collects,
No spiders crawl in to spin their webs.

The walls are yellowed with smoke,
And the table's water damaged with rings,
From all the hours spent there pondering.

The worst memories are the cleanest,
Organized daily to keep them clear,
Polished and treated like a shrine.

The curtains are heavy and allow no light,
The air is heavy and tastes like the sea,
Once you're there it's hard to leave.

The glorious morning
The peaceful night
Why anticipate for the paper view fights?
These guys aren’t Mohammed Ali
unless they got better records than I see
He would knock them out like one, two, three
He wouldn’t even have to have his eyes open
But why won’t theirs open?
Oh now he marks his territory for the millionth time
But sometimes you have to reiterate yourself again and again
That’s how he felt
From the days of early youth to the day he could wear his own belt
You can’t surpass him easily
I’m still looking for a contender
You can tell by the looks of the Bartender
Waiting for the old tapes to render
He shakes his head while he wipes off the ***** cups
Wishing he could make up
For his past mistakes
On quitting boxing
His grades were below the Mendoza line
He reassured his Mama that he would be fine
But little did he know this would set him back further than a state fine
Reading between the lines and not over them
He became one of the common crayons in the box
But a little darker than what we hoped for
And now he’s got the memory of the Prison Guard knocking on his door
Letting him know he can come out for recess
But all he wanted was to be the best
He hated the white walls so much he redefine the word detest
He just ended up like the rest
That at that moment, he wished the prison guard would shoot him dead
Numerous attempts of trying to take his gun
The consequences were the antonym of fun
He had miles and miles to run
Before they let him go easy
But that whole time was far from it
He just thought heavily while he heard the horrible sounds
Why do I feel like I deserve to be worse off than the people laying underground?
Will anyone bother to play a game of lost and found?
Just like those kids in those cliché films?
It was great relief to him when he was starting to think better thoughts
But he knew he had a lot of ocean to cover
It was the space time continuum for him
The Enterprise had more to bargain for than the high prizes
Seeing his own waters rise
Not to any of his surprise
He woke up franticly in the middle of the night
Hyperventilating, panicking
Knowing it wouldn’t be alright
The nightmares were wrapped around his mind so tight
It felt like two anacondas gripping him stiffly
He could escape
All those transgressions he made
Were coming back from the graveyards he once dreamed of in his wake
Right from the lakes
He couldn’t even eat the smallest portions of Frosted Flakes
Without breaking down like an old building
It’s thrilling for the mind
But only for it to let it all out
It wasn’t easy to overcome
But it took plenty of years of therapy to rewrite the story that he really wanted to tell
Telling the world how hard he consistently fell
No big deal, just a few scars and small quiet thoughts
But nothing worth a horror plot
It seemed like his worst days were behind him
To take that literally would be logical
A word many of his peers did not understand
They were either locked up or already dead
He overlooked the warnings of his teachers in school
But he just became another victim of Mr. T
I pity the fool, he chose to be an inept tool
Not the dull ones you buy at a department store
But the ones that need repairs and somehow make their way out
With no improvement at all
It can be pretty apparent why our proposed empires fall
The pitfalls can engulf us extremely
If we don’t handle things supremely
If I never had the guidance I received, where would I be?
Not writing these rhymes
Not telling you the times
Regardless of my previous struggles, I think everything will be fine
He went from prisoner to bartender, which may seem like it’s crossing the line
But knowing his past, the way he was doing time
He was just thankful he had a job
Now, who wouldn’t?
That’s the question I want to see answered
It’s going to be crickets for a long time
So I might as well stay here until I hear one
Because there’s no chain to be undone
Nowhere left to run
Let’s rebuild the lives of those who had nothing to begin with
Because if you were put into that place, I don’t think you would handle it too much better than them
Your life is amazing compared to them
But it’s not the cleanest gem
There’s still a few black holes here and there
But you shouldn’t mark out the reasons to care
There’s a lot more wisdom to be shared
The rest is up in the air
I don’t expect anything from the world
But I just expect better from people
That’s what encourages people to become teachers
So you can do better than they ever could
Instead of being caught in the middle of the hood
Being dangerous, mental and misunderstood
That’s the worst way to be as a human being
We’re just looking to help
Hoping to make an impact
More so than a meteor if it wiped out Earth entirely
But these kids do so when they decide to slash a cop’s car tirely
What’s that under your shirt?
A gun?
Well, Momma isn’t going to like this
You should be thrown in jail but I’ll bestow a probation
And an immense amount of community service
This isn’t a play, so I won’t rehearse this
So tell your Momma like it is
And change your life today
Because with this type of activity going on, there won’t be a Sun to look up to
There won’t be a freshly cooked meal by someone who deeply cares for you
There won’t be anyone who can take you to the Zoo
On days and weeks repeat
There won’t be a fresh batch of wheat
Sliced for you
In the requirements that must meet
Or the brand new sheets replaced weekly
What life will I live if I continue to play with fire?
Will I be unemployed and be stuck from hire?
Because that’s what happens when you play with fire
You get burned
Not from these verses
Not from these lines
But the way you go about your actions
You’re paying a permanent fine
That won’t ever wash away
So choose the lighter side today
Maybe people will overlook the bad choices you made today
And go along with their days
Like nothing happened, still entrenched in the back of their minds
Seemingly impossible to find
Going onto their morning grinds
But nowhere close to what you’ll be doing when you pay for your poor choice
The game of chance isn’t forgiving
It will take you over and pay it’s bidding
Keeping the smokers from quitting
The cheating players from winning
The happy pill participants from grinning
And the aspiring cookers from grilling
But I know that’s not the biggest culprit
But as long as I know it
I’m not going to bring it up again
We’ve seen that printed before
My central themes pop out galore
Not giving the other side too much more
Now I’m trying to experiment a little more
And not be the broken tools in those department stores
And trying to find what excites me more
Than the same old drag
That floats in a plastic bag
I’m starting to loathe people who think I’m a couch gag
I’m really not into shows like JAG
They just don’t resonate with me like they should
Some things are triumphant and grab me more than what most things ever could
And I reference them like I should
I don’t always follow the classic formulas
It’s not like I never could, but I see it as I never should

And bright red
Can't stain bright red
It's not because
It's beautiful
It's not because
It's right
In fact, you forget why
You came here
There's a reason
For all of this
The tub is just the cleanest
Place to do it.

My beloved sold me out with a kiss
The camel passed through the needle
Iscariot in his chariot, and me in a box
He keeps spare containers of light
For when he roams with dinosaurs
In crypts lacking oxygen
His roots go deep
And I'm the monkey chained in his tree
Trying to reach down and pull them out
The devil resides in the cleanest box
Keeping tabs on us
My beloved sold me out with a kiss
The camel passed through the needle

Traveling around Queensland



You see in October in 2002, Brian Allan went on a trip to Queensland with pipeline, where
The bus came right to Brian's door and there was heaps of picnic food, and there was this lady
Named Janet, who was a bit of a larrikin, and Kelly, who was a very nice lady, and then there was Richard, who tried to steal my book, but, in theory, I never kept it due to my mental breakdown, but that was a fun trip, you see we travelled up to Hervey Bay where we went to a museum aquarium, yeah that was cool, and I took some great pictures of the group I went with
And I really participated in the objects of that museum, and then we went whale watching, and that was really really cool, I also remember, doing a bit of Dolphin watching, and also, I took a photo of myself in the captain's seat, and we had a banquet meal aboard that boat, boy it's like the boat at bateman's bay,, but more exotic, and, I moved all around the boat trying to get pictures of the whales and other things, and yes, this was cool, and, one of the older people on the tour I went on had a crush on me, and I thought, she is way to old for me, but, I wanted to be nice, ok, and then as the boat went over each whale, it went rumpita rumpita rumpita
And all the people on the boat, including myself were walking from deck to deck taking photos, as this was the only time we would see whales on this Queensland coast, and then, yes, the boat trip was finished, and we all went off and went home and then Richard was tired and wanted me to get the milk for breakfast, and I didn't and he stole my writing book, because I was ******* him off, but I wrote a Poem called I don't want to be a stalker, and despite me and Richard wanting the same thing, why can't he ask, why me, and then we all had tea, and went to bed, and the next day, we went to feed the seal, and matey oh this was great and I enjoyed as you hold the piece of fish out and the seal jumps up and grabs the fish, oh this was ever so much fun, and I had 3 Goes, I think, but it could've been more, maybe less, but it was fun, and
I can tell you, the seal was having a great time as well, and I took a few photos of the seal as well as we made a movie about it, but through years and years of my mental breakdown I might have wrecked that, but it was a video anyway, and I haven't got a VCR anymore, anyway, but
I don't think I threw out the photographs on the trip, which is great, and after we left Hervey Bay, we went to the Gold Coast, and all the dreams I had about the Gold Coast, first of all we went to Warner brothers movie world, and mate, I felt like I was in the USA and as I watched the police academy cars,yeah cool, and there were a lot of rides we went on, yeah, I just walked around the theme park, buying things in the movie playground, and buying souvenirs, and talking to some of the tourists, and I spoke to a lot of the people from our trip, as I walked around with Kelly and Steve ambrose, and then at the end of this day at the theme park, a bad
Thing happened in Bali, which was the Bali bombings and Tom and Steve who were my room mates were watching the whole boring news event the whole day, as this was a relax and chill day, me and Steve went for a walk, while Steve wanted to live down here, and said, hey, mate
Have ya got any jobs, going, in a real Australian way, and then the trip leader Joel took us on a walk down to surfers paradise, and I ****** in the water, because fish do it, why can't we, well
This was a real relaxing day, and then they bought our meals in, and if I can remember, it was
Fish and chips, with prawns and so on , well this was ever so tasty, I loved it, and then we went to bed, for the next day was interesting, you see, the next day, we will go to currimbin animal
Sanctuary, where we held snakes, and we looked as bold as the big bold eagle, and there were a lot of wildlife, there and I took a lot of photos there, it was radically awesome, and Queensland is the cleanest state in Australia, the seas are cleaner and green, while no, really disgusting seaweed ever existed and, mate, yeah really clean, after that we headed back to our motel, and we watched the football, Australia won, and Tom was showing is patriotism by standing up with his hand on his chest, to the national anthem, and me and Steve and Kelly
Went for a dip in the pool, and Richard who because I spoke up to him, he really liked the way I was ever so cool, and then we went back to our rooms and waited for our next meal, which was
Home made spaghetti  bolognaise and this was made ya know ever so tasty, and Jason  and Joel cooked it, one *** of it to every room, about 3 in total, and I don't know about other rooms, but my room really loved it, yeah, the best spag boll in the country cooked by Jason and Joel, and
Then after about 2 hours, we went to bed, and the next day, we went home and we stopped over at Coffs Harbour and at night, we bought pizzas, for each of us, and James and Kelly joel and myself were driven home by Joel, and we fell asleep after watching our last nights TV
And we went for a Sydney bypass which meant, in about 6 hours we were all home and that was the end of a great trip, and I went to my play rehearsal for urban dreaming that night, and
Despite my parents saying I will be too tired for that, it was just a watching the other theatre performance that was on, which was cool, man, and I really loved the holiday, for it brought me some happy memories, the end


Sent from my iPad

You only realize,
That you miss someone,
When they've left you,
Forever.

I was forced,
And I hated that place.
But I forgot there were good,
People like you.


I regret not thinking straight,
Because now I miss you,
I miss you smiling,
Cracking a joke all the time.

You sure didn't have the cleanest mind,
But that made you all the more funny,
Your humour,
And constant laughter.

I never hated you,
How would I?
You were so sweet,
So nice.

You got along with everyone,
Hid your feelings to the ones you hated.
But you changed ways behind their backs,
Making all of us laugh.

You're the one person I miss the most,
The one person I wish back.
The one person I want here with me,
The one that I need to make me smile.

I don't love you,
But I need you,
I need some happiness,
To turn this frown the right side.

I wish I could turn back time,
So I can treasure those moments with you.
I don't want to regret,
For being the worst friend.

You did laugh,
At the things you shouldn't,
But I forgive,
And I forget.

I dream of seeing you,
So many times,
I just want to say goodbye,
one last time.

But we're parting further,
So I can never see you again.
Connections fail,
To make me contented.

So, keep this poem,
so you can remember,
you changed my life,
and you'll stay in me forever.

For years I’ve had marbles tucked in my mouth,

Different colored weights that pulled on my glands, on secret saliva.

For years I’ve had marbles in my mouth and I forgot to spit them out or hide them away so I let them become permanent placements in my always-cavities; soon they even slipped so easy into my bloodstream.

The black ones made me say yes too often.

The reds made me want to bleed.

The blues made me cry, obviously. They stood guard on my tear ducts, deciding when and how to show emotion. They didn’t let me cry that night. They didn’t let me cry for months. Now I am crying almost everyday, and I am shooting those blue marbles straight to the moon; I’ve had it with avoiding emotion every day of my life.

The yellows made me want to forgive you, made me want to **** on sunshine, made me want to clamber into your mother’s arms, let her know that it wasn’t your fault. The yellows are *******.

The cat eyes have me avoiding eyes with every man on the street, so sure they will spit out words that they expect me to lap up like milk with an easy grin, tail twitching for attention. The cat eyes have me distrustful, have me always knowing it could happen again.

The rainbows loosened my tongue, had me admit secret sexualities, let me march in parades and kiss girls, had me falling over myself tripping into love.

I’m not sure who this poem is for anymore, or what it’s even about. The doctors say I have the cleanest bloodwork they’ve seen in a while, I don’t ask them about the marbles. They refer to some of them as disordered.

I’m not sure if they’re marbles anymore, I think they’re just me,

and I’m sorry I’m getting off-track, the marble in my hand right now is glitter and sparkle and confusion and I’m trying so hard to stay put.

Give me the orange ones, the fire, ones that looks like Mars

or Jupiter.

Give me two moons, or maybe sixty-six.

Give me a giant ladder.

This is about running away.

This is about playing with your marbles

and learning everything about them

and staying put.

I don't eat and I don't sleep
But I have the cleanest house on the street.
Thank you Crystal Methamphetimine.

I'm finally loosing weight, and I can keep up, all because of this powerful stuff.
Thank you Crystal Methamphetimine.

I finally have friends that I can call, when I need em I just pack em a bowl.
Thank you Crystal Methamphetimine.

I look really sick, I am too skinny
I'm hearing and seeing things by the plenty
I ******* HATE you Crystal Methamphetimine.

I don't recognize me anymore, nor does my family when I'm crying on the floor.
I ******* HATE you Crystal Methamphetamine.

I NEVER had friends, they were just demons, I know that for sure because no one else seen em.
I ******* HATE you Crystal Methamphetamine.

I can't continue our relationship anymore, you are why my blood has been shed on this floor.
YOU PROMISED YOU LOVED ME CRYSTAL METHAMPHETAMINE.

Once I was a pretty girl
Made of a big leaf
and a strong root
that grew to
fields of fruit
On each of my birthdays
I used to wear a dress
made of yellow flowers

I stayed so
Thinking to be
As strong but
Unable to walk
Like a tree
Or a tree
until
Until
I met he

He
who called me She
He a true
Human Being
He a true man
One of the strongest
Gentlest
Shiniest
Of its kind
dared to pluck
Me fully
Completely
For whom
I converted
From
A plant
To
As he says:
She

I walked the depths of
Mud hand in hand
With he
by which
my feet shaped
To toes
soft and pinky

He teach me
How to step
On the
Crystal shiny
Water smooth
Rocks
Rocks passaging
A delirious rush
Of dizzying fall
Only by the sound of
Such gobbly bubbly
turbulence
Sound of vertigo
He holds
My arm
Needles to ask
In sync fit time
He says
I help She
Because she is not
As strong as ….

Never using the word
Weak
Face of gentleness
With coal black
crystal
Shiny eyes
A smile like buddha
No he cannot hide
And no why would
He
When hide
İs only
İn my tongue

As he holds me
I feel light
Clearing my sight
As if on the moon
Defeating gravity
And voluntarily
Fully
Am
The She
For
He

In my terms
For Once  
enjoying
the Weak
Beautifully

Flying
By his strong palms
He who raised me to the
Blue of freest skies
Made of the joy of lovers
Brought me
to a cleanest Lagoons
A Queen's bath on another
Plane from where suns shine
Their brightest
to heal our worlds

And Lovers make love
As we walk hand in hand
Each of a stumble of mine
As if  a pure longing to touch
him longer
While i bathe ****
he politely looks the other side
And picks a blood red bloom
for me

Like a nature you used to be
And still are
A gift for you  
he says  by his light
Shining the purest
without any expectation

A Flower once gifted to Shiva
She and he now
Linga
She and he now
As all pray
to be a blessing of love
Maybe a dream
Maybe still here or there
Maybe the color of the sunset
on a new moon day
….

For he
He who warmed my heart today
He made of divine light
He who never will read my lines
Lines made of words
But for he
He who calls me She
He who I know
already Knows
He who
held my hand
once
on a new moon day.

i.

the poem has a beginning exactly as you’d expect it:
pa in sweatshirt, ma with purse; the funny thing is
i never used to call them those names:
“pa,”
“ma,”
always found them too cowboy-ish,
too un-me, un-like

us: who held chopsticks before dinner time and shared
stories of how grandpa came over from china.

ii. (at the dinner table)

there is no symbolism here. there has been none
for a while now. this household eats and
eats in quiet. my grandmother is a poet but their
books all burned down

back in ’45 when mao stormed into fujian and
all her uncles could eloquent on was that
“the communists were coming!”
“the communists were coming!”
and instead of poems took with them their
children, and their gold to pawn

and their clothes on their muddy
mortar-stained backs

and the japanese

iii.

my grandfather now comes twice a week to the
hospital for chemotherapy. it is a nice hospital.
good view of the cleanest part of our *****

city. there are lights and white folks now. two things
my dad said did not used to be there. they

used to be spanish. they tilled
our rice fields and spent the money on living rooms
with lots and lots of space to sleep. we on the other hand,
worked. he claims.

your grandfather and his grandfather and i

iv.

awake every sunday morning at precisely 8:30.
made to go down to the temple in kalesas
and told to fetch the office paper for
noontime reading. see we weren’t spoiled: grew

up just next to the pasig river which back in
the 70s did not smell as bad as sin only
sweatshirts

and the sweat we soaked them in we reeled along
steamed fish heads and chopsticks for picking at them with
and bowls of rice we never really ate with spoons.

v. (back at the dinner table)

i listen to my mom and dad
sweat profusely in the evening heat only we can have here
he in his sweatshirt and she
with her golden purse,

preparing to leave - a wedding party awaits -
an jacket draped over his shirt just like grandfather used to do it
in a sense,
but gripping the chopsticks delicately for all us
to see:

“pa,”
“ma,”

v.

it is not cowboys that give us our names.

I have to keep her clean,
make sure all her parts
glide together smoothly.

She feels so nice
in my arms,
I rest her little ****
against
my strong shoulder,
load her up,
squeeze her trigger
with a delicate-finger.

I love the way
she gently
bumps into me,
spitting quick hot-shots,
it's totally *******,
makes me feel
superhuman.

O, this love affair
between her & me!

She's the cleanest,
the prettiest weapon
in the entire armory.
We have so much fun,
my gun and me,
can't you see?

We're killer together,
her & I,
I could cry,
I think I'm in love
with her metal anatomy.

She was there when the battle was won
Dressed in the purest form of light
Even so when the agony was raging and bold
Asha was whispering happy and bright

She was covered in dirt and stains
But in the cleanest clothes as well
Experiencing dark and pain
Although suffering was never in the way

Asha was always present
Needed or not she was there
Be it a devastating event
Or an hour of victorious affair

She helps you to get up
From a calamitous fall
And inspires you to reconstruct
Dreams broken together with the walls

Asha is ubiquitous
Asha is everywhere
Hope is ubiquitous
Hope is everywhere
Because Asha and hope is one