"supernal" poems
Loyalty is where the heart is
in eternal lengths and depths.
Bound in love, and sealed in courage
by supernal covenants.
Family is the beginning!
First in order from our birth
to whom we give, without an ending,
adorations of our worth.
Our friends in loyalty will follow
after family bonds are made.
And let a friend whose hope is hollow
be lifted by our hasteful aid.
And then, progressing, find a mate
with whom you'll form a family.
Let loyalty with them be great
in time and all eternity.
O man, O man, remember Him!
The one from whom all blessings flow!
Take time to learn of Elohim,
That God that sent you here to grow!
Before your loyalties are given
to those we meet in life on earth,
Put, first, your loyalty in Heaven
and He who gave you timeless worth!
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
The blazing eye of Dawn is all to fools:
those who see the joy
in Light expressed as Light,
but brightness also graces Night.
Her veil parted, the black curtain
giving way to shades of blue and gold,
Her rapturous embrace inspiring eyes beholden.
*Planted in Her garden, neighboring eaves
rustling in their trembling eagerness to share their leaves!*
For in Her realm eternal, flawless
clay of earth and blade of grass
stretch forth to feel the loving light
of their supernal Goddess!
Her joy ran rampant through my boughs,
my swaying branches spreading wide
to grasp the rays of her horizon --
*With love untainted as a child's, so boundless
as my selfless roots cried out to sing her praises soundless!*
No dalliance ever felt before complete
until this blessed revelation -
this, Her holy emanation, warmed my heart,
annulled my restless reason:
She was every mother: deepest love
in understanding all that came of Her,
enclosing us within the circular.
*She beckoned but a moment by Her brilliance; best,
lest I uprooted trunk and earth to shade Her manifest.*
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
The picturesque glow from the full moon enkindles youthful swooning and yearning; orotund voices rising above prattle conversation yield celestial affirmations in conjunction with analogous, supernal relations
Full acceptance of the shimmering stars sacrosanct messages coruscating through the sky - fulsome oracular expressions instilling mesmerizing past-life recollections.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Supernal abodes ours where we be as
soul-sheaths more transparent than we aspire
*in abodes we of
self-modification more transparent than we petaled hope*
of here, realms where bloom delights, beacons of
petaled hope, amid the rhythms of ice-pins
*amid Supernal beacons of delights
space, sensation soul-sheaths expansion of ice-pins*
in expansion space, sensation light and
self-modification all perception
*be as bloom ours where all perception here, realms where
aspire light and the rhythms*
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
Call me to the mountains once more,
Oh sweet, murmuring gusts,
And remind me who I am.
Sweep up my laughing toes to the tops
Of these proud outcrops
Then give my breath to the dome
When after looking out, I see my city,
But not my home.
Bring forth the rich perfumes
of startling everything-ness from the valleys,
And after I have drunk the proud skirts
of these verdurous hills,
Let your sweet touch guide me up,
and pin my head to my scoping bed.
Then hush, let me be as I espy
My gentle, distant, giant lovers,
Dependably rising from the East,
with supernal gossiping
for my cognizance alone.
Let me imbibe their wisdom
until all my queries and qualms
slip from my eyes,
dissolving into secrets
and thanks beyond measure.
One last request, my swift-flowing friend,
Wipe these wet lessons from my face
And carry their essence to the edge
To Karman,
And meet the angel who waits without air
To carry my cosmic missives there
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 5:54 AM UTC
The stellular supernal of
Translation exalting the
Absurdist rudimentary
Vale of tears; the place
Death was born blanketed
In twilight's eternal
Oblivion, breaking
Immortality-
The propitiative law
of Medes and Persians
From time out of mind,
'Whom the Gods love die young';
The amaranthine race to
Drink from the retentionist
Cup filled by Medea's ichor
Imbrued kettle readying for
The harrowing of Hell.
Eleete J Muir.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
energy surging,
heat begetting heat
expands to dark expanse to cool and brew what slow restocking weight
with white supernal flare between
around an equipoise of center you imagined as you write
and what non-being-being residing in beneath the deep?
inspired by the question-thought embracing
death beyond what death to value life a blissful state
in even darkest reaches found
the pain a sundered gate of joy you capture with poetic greeting ploy,
that coin is split to join opposing worlds
as when blind Shiva blinded world
unbridled lust arrayed from hut to hut
obliging them his ***** to rip
but then extinguishing their rant
to foster pleading for the dance again
collecting yoga as viyoga
in samanvaya chiaroscuro maya-vidya
or adept on cosmic player focus
hate-trancendent into vast eternal love
which even Luke (14:26) dropped lovely clue to
un conditioned by contingent fondness
for what myth of real play
we stage together evermore
to frolic in the uncut hair of graves
(greenest grass to know what past)
whose leavings are for future sunrise lush to celebrate another self envisioned
in another set of singing eyes
the literal, empty, formless mien
a synthesized good-bye recursion rush
.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
we did what we could that night
and a supernal being is ashamed.
this is the drift of thought
in the vast ocean of gilded gold
frothing at the edge of rotund:
giving back a silenced enigma,
spewing the answer in an exhaust
of white rancid smoke
dharma burns plastered to cigarette.
burning and burning, afloat are the high-pouncing embers looking for fleeting shades and dagger-ambulations
of a shadow's swagger in tectonic soiree.
we did what we could that night.
like a flash of lightning at the back
of hoarded hills,
or say, something brutal and brash with
modern sensibilities we never jell —
we come not with softness or life
peering out of our eyes like little girls
serenaded by mad men in the eve of
forlorn nights. we did what we could
and some god cringes, winces away
like the erratic dance of candleflame.
the leviathan black spreads its parasol
and we are no strangers.
when our veraciousness starts to pierce
the veil, the populace should start
to worry of their trapped conditions.
we came here for something:
be it flesh, be it wisdom, be it plain inebriations — we will never flinch
at the squalor of tomorrow's sobering.
keep in mind, kaibigan.
it's all levitation and transcendence.
the darkness wept as the car
groans near the end of its immaterial life.
i flick the last cigarette into the grey-faced pavement.
all oceans drowned,
all shadows burgeoned,
all fires emerged plump,
this silent radio rivers
through the wave of this ephemerality,
the onomatopoeia of strangeness,
the thud
of the senseless head of metal
on the body
the clackety-clack
of hours thereafter!
ayeayeaye! the streets sing no mild
appendage. the solstice is lost
in the length and precision of all things.
bringing ourselves to the brink of absence,
our pallid selves set ablaze, emblazoning
the quick life of matchflame or rumble of
thunder — the steady phoenix of
that night! this is learning
to breathe again, o, what currents purloined in vicious swarth as we keep
this river flowing into our throats,
jamming our souls to compelling music.
remember kaibigan,
it's all levitation and transcendence.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
A part, immutable, unseen,
Being, before itself had been,
Became. Like dew a triple queen
Shone as the void uncovered:
The silence of deep height was drawn
A veil across the silver dawn
On holy wings that hovered.
The music of three thoughts became
The beauty, that is one white flame,
The justice that surpasses shame,
The victory, the splendour,
The sacred fountain that is whirled
From depths beyond that older world
A new world to engender.
The kingdom is extended. Night
Dwells, and I contemplate the sight
That is not seeing, but the light
That secretly is kindled,
Though oft-time its most holy fire
Lacks oil, whene'er my own Desire
Before desire has dwindled.
I see the thin web binding me
With thirteen cords of unity
Toward the calm centre of the sea.
(O thou supernal mother!)
The triple light my path divides
To twain and fifty sudden sides
Each perfect as each other.
Now backwards, inwards still my mind
Must track the intangible and blind,
And seeking, shall securely find
Hidden in secret places
Fresh feasts for every soul that strives,
New life for many mystic lives,
And strange new forms and faces.
My mind still searches, and attains
By many days and many pains
To That which Is and Was and reigns
Shadowed in four and ten;
And loses self in sacred lands,
And cries and quickens, and understands
Beyond the first Amen.
2.1k
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home
whether bios urn
or spirit seed
or any trendy tree from corpse to copse,
from dust to leaves
or better than
a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames
transplanted into other selves
redressed in mushroom spore-suit
seeded with the genes of generations hence and past,
piercing veils to fruit above again,
a mycophile to the last--
i will have lived with growth in mind,
that firm amorphous
ground opining green
to kindly live and die in kind
foment another view,
encompass monumental evanesce
supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts
barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey,
perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains
to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago,
in threaded tones the make-remaking fold
of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars
decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Joy to our lives such Hope, supernal that
who grace this world of darkness rejects hatred, they call forth
once in an aeon. the soul and tend love;
Gripped in sadness we Purgatory cells
who have lost a lighted lamp - imprisoning the human
this mourning season; spirit for small gain;
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Rachel cuts the strings,
and it's bombs away.
A lost weekend for the books,
with enough fallout
to discourage three generations
of new youth.
Rachel sleeps,
and it's extraordinary toxicity.
A haze of isolation
to balance the height
of her supernal company.
Rachel goes back to prison,
and I continue my journey into the woods.
No light to guide,
no cold hands touching my face,
just yellow eyes and paranoia.
Wilt go the flowers,
cancer grabs the coherence.
Do you love me forever?
Do you love me forever?
Down goes the next bottle,
crawl into the body.
Will your old book make you better?
Will your old book make you better?
I won't be novel long.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 12:38 AM UTC
Birthed from perfect unknown void,
Crescendos of unific silence
And a ****** ear reflecting,
A Gift between Two Brothers discontent
Interweaves them now and evermore
In fraternal ******* to a nondual realm.
A lightning seed of thought between two darks,
One light enough to fade the cosmic frown,
To be reborn in strife eternal,
And set the Cycle hastening to a Muse.
His flickering strands dehiscing essence,
The perfect fracture in a faultless whole,
It brings to bear the Change supernal:
The Triple Sequence timely folding,
Unfolds the Rhapsody of Seasons:
Wind, Sea and Earth alighting
Origins of Fire churning dim:
Clear rippling of finality forgotten,
New pressing through into existence,
Her gaze a creature to its own illumination
Renewed, with steaming boundaries... ragged breath:
Living sparks to contemplate the Stars,
And Satyr forward lustful genesis.
The hidden sun plays throughout the wood
A fragant melody of Light held fast,
Of Shadow pregnant and yearning
Bursting forth in spray of life subdued,
Laid low by Rhythmic pulse
And Timeless sea of tempoed mystery.
The hoard takes form, enraged--
A battle-morning's thralling mist of
Early spirits condensate to cling...
That vast blank anticenter dares to mock
With bated fragile brandishings, the
Violent frame of peace-horizons
Stepping out of step, Undeath whining
For a loss of Truth continual. Yet
Hope is wheeling her neoteric self
Upon that sovereign evanescence
Web-like spinning still, a prior sense,
A transfinite faultline of life yet unborn,
Of death still unwrought and wrought again
In hues of growth, and dreams of change,
Waiting silently for Books of Song.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
No towering, flowering, landlocked tree
Will weep for the waning life of thee
Forgive them, friend, they never saw you smile
Forgive them, friend, they never saw you grin
To mistress maritime you were married
For her you lived, so with her be buried
Below the surface of sorrowful sin
Where above breathe hateful and hollow men
Solar shadows spin and empty seas flow
Though they are bereft your supernal glow
Forgive me, father, I can't seem to smile
Since you died, father, I can't seem to grin
(And from the waves we are ******
(And unto the waves we are ******
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 9:14 PM UTC
The intimations of our golden youth
Are whispering the dreams of manhood-
Subtle ways of ageless yearning
Which in kind with ambient stars
Quarterly describes, in subtle play
The chiming of a universal soul
Whose consort is a universal heart
In man or woman, ever yielding scales
From pole to pole, the hermeneutic art.
Sweet songs of knowing, harmonies in time
Resolved, upwelling, urging on the climb
Of sacred being, born to unify…
Conceived of ash, from ash to mount the skies
On wings supernal, loft on fiery reins
To ring the victors’ anthem and the aims
Of truth and love for life’s enduring worth!
O fair noblesse and sweet repose
Of sacred care, always we hold you dear
In trials of election and sojourning.
Your constant grace, deep from within, unfolds
To free the tortured thought and lonely fears
Of desperate nights and homesick yearning.
At last in you we find the kindliness
Of heart, whose honored worth is bright as gold
To phantom souls and this, too darkened, world.
Your equipage and host of tenderness
Wrought pure intent, more sure than has been told
Of truth by men, the best of mind unfurled!
Let none forget, in U we find our rest
From whom we’re born, to whom we must return
Our hope of innocence, in us the best
Of love, whose lamp has ever inward burned.
Mystery of love that sends
In timeless whispers, on the mend
Of heart and mind, eternal tides
Of being; faith unto sacred faith
Raising up the ancient gates
Where mercy ever abides.
Patiently, your mourning dove
Has preened the pinions of our love
Recouping every bit of life’s content.
At last, what awful beauty drapes the sea
And broods the dark on holy wings of peace
A train of captives, born to pure intent!
Still working yet upon the day
Though battered in the idols’ fray
To overcome the world and show forth
The proven heart, all worthlessness disposed;
Not trusting in those shadowy ways
But piercing what, upon the naked eye
Has taunted love, too dimly beheld.
While alone the thought matured
One social pact allied the tortured doubts
And rose upon the gate Beautiful
Acceptance and cooperation
Our universal worth, more brightly lit!
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
When a barroom filled with laughter
can't lift your head, even momentarily,
from your sad, soggy plate of nachos-for-one...
When passing girls in narrow hallways
flash the fires of passion from their eyes into yours
simply to be smothered under a heavy, wet blanket stare;
a cumbersome quilt of all your yesterdays' shame...
When the supernal opportunity to live for another 24 hrs
is met with all the ambition and grace
of a house cat forced into a cold bath...
You are used up to this world.
You are lost to your purpose of being.
You are dropped to the dirt like
a flower whose spiked stem pricked the caressing fingers of it's holder.
Hold no expectation of a familiar, loving hand
to reach down, relieved to pick you up
and reunite you with what you wish to be;
or to place you where you belong.
Look around,
The ground is littered with us unwanted things.
We've all seen that ***** pair of disregarded underwear,
miserably caked in rainwater mud,
laying on the side of a road or under a bridge somewhere.
Whose hand is reaching down for that?
But, I won't compare myself
to a bum's forgotten underpants
and neither should you.
I'm sure the universe views us differently than that.
It will soon pick us up, wash us of all those grimy wrongs
and wear us out anew.
Yes, that has to be true.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
---Java Jibe--
(repost...from fourteen months back)
This night is very different.
It is young
The moon is out there...in full view,
But it's like there is no moon,
It is dull, it doesn't glow,
Looks like a paper moon.
An empty corner meets my eyes.
Window is closed...door is ajar,
Posts...ceilings...walls...all are naked,
White...unmoving...lifeless.
I sigh,
But, a sigh is just a sigh,
Not encouraging in this piercing cold,
I find no help offered.
...just a plate to my left---with stuff..
I take a sip,
A ******* I dip...
Maybe, I could bite a tip
Or...a drip
From the dip,
Again, more sips...
This time, no more dips...
()
()
()
Mind is now deeply dipped,
W a i t i n g...with the hands
F l e x i n g.....ah, I'm
T r y i n g...to capture them now,
Stop these kites from flying
Away, out of my brain, fleeing...
This moment......I now seize,
Will stretch it to long hours, into a night of bliss,
My hot, strong, bitter drink always helps me clear the way,
The boulder, is now fragmented...crushed,
Pushed further away, to flow towards a lazy, lethargic river.
It matters not to me,
Could be a poem or a ditty
This is a supernal moment
When ideas so potent
Like tap water, flows with no end.
This is one of those nights
When I would fall, then rise again, and take flight
Reviving inspirations to a glowing height
One moment I can't let go...I am in a JAVA JIBE
Oh, I've never been so A L I V E !
1/3/15
Sally
Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
#kites #longnight #javajive #papermoon #lethargicriver
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
(Java Jibe)
This night is very different.
It is young
The moon is out there...in full view,
But it's like there is no moon,
It is dull, it doesn't glow,
Looks like a paper moon.
An empty corner meets my eyes.
Window is closed...door is ajar,
Posts...ceilings...walls...all are naked,
White...unmoving...lifeless.
I sigh,
But, a sigh is just a sigh,
Not encouraging in this piercing cold,
I find no help offered.
...just a plate to my left---with stuff..
I take a sip,
A ******* I dip...
Maybe, I could bite a tip
Or...a drip
From the dip,
Again, more sips...
This time, no more dips...
()
()
()
Mind is now deeply dipped,
W a i t i n g...with the hands
F l e x i n g.....ah, I'm
T r y i n g...to capture them now,
Stop these kites from flying
Away, out of my brain, fleeing...
This moment......I now seize,
Will stretch it to long hours, into a night of bliss,
My hot, strong, bitter drink always helps me clear the way,
The boulder, is now fragmented...crushed,
Pushed further away, to flow towards a lazy, lethargic river.
It matters not to me,
Could be a poem or a ditty
This is a supernal moment
When ideas so potent
Like tap water, flows with no end.
This is one of those nights
When I would fall, then rise again, and take flight
Reviving inspirations to a glowing height
One moment I can't let go...I am in a JAVA JIBE
Oh, I've never been so A L I V E !
1/3/15
Sally
Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:23 AM UTC
Once there was vernal sunshine all around
With plants and blooms in color and scent abound
Butterflies here n’ there and from all corners unseen
Flitted back and forth in iridescent sheen
Birds sang tuneful songs of contentment
Squirrels and bunnies hopped in spirits buoyant
But all along now I see trees, leafless and bare
Nakedly shivering in winter’s chilly air
Even when the Earth adorns in full glory
Here I bide alone, so dull and dreary
Oh! Dear! Why have you so hurriedly left me?
Was it to make me drift aimless in this turbulent sea?
We were once a happy pair of doves
Seeking warmth under each other’s wings
By sundown, we flew to our evening nest
Under temple spires, we sought easeful rest
We walked the meadows, gathering spring flowers
We roamed aimless through ocean strands
We watched life’s ceaseless ebb and flow
We waited eager to grab life’s evanescent glow
We knew sorrow’s depth and worth
Each morn, for us, was love’s rebirth
We walked close to paths supernal
And lived ever in love eternal
Now I have lost the rhyme n’ rhythm of life
I see the world around with sorrows rife
I am a broken reed far beyond repair
With no songs to be played now or ever
Once we danced to the rising and lilting measure
Each synchronized step, we took with such pleasure
Oh! I hear from far, your anklets rhyme and chime
They ring in my ears through the time
Each wayside flower to me recalls your lovelorn face
The wind swayed lilacs reflect your grace
Deep in silent night the odor of your flowing hair
Comes wafting, and for a while, I feel you near
A boundless emptiness often fills my space
The question –‘What next’ stares at my face
Yet never shall I yield, but shall bravely sail
Hoping, we together shall meet at the Golden Dale
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
i work, i laze. such pre-
history this vessel holds,
such futuristic perceptions.
writing with no real purpose.
Wolf Larsen, i am
nothing more than part of
the ferment. i would give
my existence, so as
to be challenged by another.
stable, my consumption is
minimal; congrats.
learning better how to
curb the supernal longings.
(they shall never abate)
i am at current unfetter’d,
without grave longings,
most of all:
we should not try to find
our happiness in others.
take care of your knees –
of yourself – and
do not fear the wind.
to stand upon our own legs,
face the squall, be
found naked in truth.
and time passes with some
ideas, dreams, longings
falling to the wayside. some
turn to ash, others ember.
never admit failure, instead,
realize each floundering as
a chance for learning.
and learn, or don’t
and sleep, or don’t
and smoke, or don’t
and live, or don’t.
say yes, move on.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
about aboutness thematizing themes
flowers need not say, marching into war--
enraptured gaze their petals open far
to seek horizons conjured from a dream.
they grow to measure limits of all selves,
become the symbol-meaning recombined
--plucked to toss an emblem for the mind--
humming under captured sun, ecliptic quell
paper cups of burning blood becoming sky
bolster or efface the heart before its fate,
poetic flare leaves hunger unappeased--
the ruthless earth imbibes its digest dry
as interspiral helicals of age
assume finality's supernal ease
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Man hast sought, and wilt seeketh,
Supernal treasure's until the
End of their day's;
I hath found the jewel
They seeketh; not wrought
By men's hand's, nor stored in some cave.
She's mine, all mine
So beast's goeth away;
She's mine, O' mine
rapturous hooray!!!
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
The bright piercing moon,
perforates
the anvil black sky.
Tallying our time,
as it blooms and subsides,
like a grandfather
winking
a supernal eye,
surveying the lawn
of perennial pawns
and infallible annual gods.
With a logic all its own,
it salutes and bemoans
the Great Sphinx’s nose,
and the wind scattered scraps
of the Rosetta Stone.
Some seer will come,
before too soon,
or a scientist,
wont to presume,
But in gold and stolen
myth they’ll stand ,
like fraudulent kings,
yelping lambs,
flaring though spring,
with bluffs in hand,
until they wither
unto grains
of sand
.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC