I kissed someone in the night,
Then woke to moan my plight,
No one to sing my song with me,
But contentment soon the object of my sight,
The Maker is my might,
Who better to sing in harmony?
Than the one who gave to me?
The melody of soul.
He sweeps the stars in dulcet patterns,
And creams the clouds for frosting,
He bends the eyelash and reddens lips,
Adds all the sweetness to make our hearts dip,
Forward and fall in love with his own stamp of beauty.
The Stamper is the most beautiful;
No crafted canyon, or molded man can compare to the Maker of it all,
For he only takes what is his and gives it out like candy,
To the mouths of all his children, unaware of his hand.
I want to be aware, to see indescribable things,
To watch with inner eyes what few else have seen,
To hear a song of a different dimension,
Lovely amidst dissension, and run towards that which can,
Really, give me what I want,
Give me what I need.

I PASSED along the water's edge below the humid trees,
My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my
knees,
My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moor-
fowl pace
All dripping on a grassy *****, and saw them cease to
chase
Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:
Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or
weak
Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from
His eye.
I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:
Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk,
For I am in His image made, and all this tinkling tide
Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide.
A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes
Brimful of starlight, and he said:  The Stamper of the
Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He
Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say:
Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers
gay,
He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night
His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.

There is no fantastical world in which civility between us can exist. Civility, of course, being perceived in the sense that we can coexist pleasantly, without a romance topped with jaded raspberries and peppermint liqueur.
After a generous amount of sneezing and crawling and crying in the moonlight with half embered cigarettes hanging from our dripping mouths, I saw this. A grievous vision of Hank Stamper clawing at my back end, a still-life embedded someplace dark and dank, a cradle so forgotten and filthy that only a mother woven from dirt-covered cloth could love it. We built some ridiculous, disgusting house and made love in it. Day in, day out.
In the end our urinary tract infections infected our kidneys and became fatal when paired with the dysentery. I will always remember your name paired with dysentery, my love.
I promised myself endlessly that I was laying in such a softer settlement without you. Your reckless lifestyle was grimier than mine and our paths collided and collapsed with validity, I was sure of that. I am sure of that. However, it seems my insistence that I recover from you, brings with it some kind of ****** up honor to be dealt your way. Should I write a song about you? No, I'd soon hear it in your trapeze act. Should I make a film about you? No, the lead would be sinfully attractive and further engorge your rather large head. Should I write a book about you? Should I? Have I? Can I? I doubt you would see the honor here. In fact, if you were to look for anything other than consistent misuses of punctuation in my writing, I feel sure you would find solace and comfort and silence would soon follow.

I've Wished So Much Of the "4th"

Nothing eternal as the sentry of thoughts
surfaced with course memos
under trees were branches
while the terse sky...
imposes roots from hell

older yearly wanton grueling haughty suppressed
breaking from sundown

Into 3 fingered humanoid flickers of empathy
or simply understanding
as the drain on alacrity
sends drudges of depression to new flights

Light the strolls encase the toes
running brave yet stamper out cursive strokes of the body
staked for Xerox belay on heavens, on belay

Only without your senses
forces fraught jasmine glops of Freon jolts
collected by gutter fed demi costs, the frequency more or less

Another evening & years stretched by
glassy faith cut with fire cool waters
& doubtless familiars
yet, never understanding as the dreams never arrive

They juxtapose, should I be sunk or
I the weeds of life assail, oiled by grease of existence
& fall into another blank reality of holding

Who calls a namesake and savior
or can it be fraught by conscious marks
alight on scratches metaphysical
continuance and the dance
to avail for there's an awe of an almost "omnificent empress"

And then there's just every other fourth of July

Nothing eternal as the sentry of thoughts
surfaced with course memos
under trees were branches
while the terse sky
imposes roots from hell
older yearly wanton grueling haughty suppressed
breaking from sundown
Into 3 fingered humanoid flickers of empathy
or simply understanding
as the drain on alacridity
sends drudge of depression new flights
Light the strolls encase the toes
running brave yet stamper out cursive strokes of the body
staked for xerox belay on heavens on belay
Only without your senses
forces fraught jasmine glops of Freon jolts
collected by gutter fed demi cost frequency more or less
Another evening years stretched by
glassy faith cut with fire cool waters
doubtless familiars
yet never understanding as the dreams never arrive
They juxtapose should I be sunk or
I weeds assail oiled by grease of existence
fall into another blank reality of holding
who calls a namesake and savior
Or can be fraught conscious marks
alight on scratches metaphysical
continue the dance
to avail for there's an awe omnificent Empress

Nothing eternal as the sentry of thoughts
surfaced with course memos
under trees were branches
while the terse sky
imposes roots from hell
older yearly wanton grueling haughty suppressed
breaking from sundown
Into 3 fingered humanoid flickers of empathy
or simply understanding
as the drain on alacridity
sends drudge of depression new flights
Light the strolls encase the toes
running brave yet stamper out cursive strokes of the body
staked for xerox belay on heavens on belay
Only without your senses
forces fraught jasmine glops of Freon jolts
collected by gutter fed demi cost frequency more or less
Another evening years stretched by
glassy faith cut with fire cool waters
doubtless familiars
yet never understanding as the dreams never arrive
They juxtapose should I be sunk or
I weeds assail oiled by grease of existence
fall into another blank reality of holding
who calls a namesake and savior
Or can be fraught conscious marks
alight on scratches metaphysical
continue the dance
to avail for there's an awe omnificent empress