Sunday:
Ant Pills
Bear Traps
Cobra Feet

Monday:
Dolphin Lungs
Eel Soup
Frog Limbs

Tuesday:
Gecko Suits
Horse Pie
Inchworm ***

Wednesday:
Jaguar Barbed
Koala Beer
Lynx Lynch

Thursday:
Monkey Chips
Narwhal Fashions
Otter Drugs

Friday:
Porcupine Rehab
Quail Map
Roadrunner Piano

Saturday:
Slug Party
Turkey Slop
Urchin See

Sunday:
Vulture Guns
Walrus Tongues
X No

Monday:
Yellowjacket Fever
Zebra Clowns

i seldom wait for permission
just like how the ice comes quickly in mid-december
just like how we congregate around the fire surrounded
by the dead tree log cabin

waiting for a new world
face to face, we wait
fill the time with conversation
little silence
you didn't notice the sun coming up

it's a new day
do we have a new way?

yellowjacket, you're the canary
in my coal mine
let me know when things get toxic
and evacuate

send your smoke up the chimney
before we start coughing up
bruised lungs

just like how the ice comes in mid-december
your air has frozen these waters
and now we can walk around without
fear of drowning

just like how we congregate around the fire
surrounded by a weeks worth of loneliness
and enough beer and friends
to get by for another week of transition in
twilight times
i see the sun from the corner of my eye
and we walk to the window
still talking about
the farthest reaches of the mind

and
i suppose we've been there, or else
we'd be a bunch of midnight liars
smoking cigarrettes and telling fairy tales
about the things the world
won't allow

yellowjacket, dear canary
what have you found today?
whistle in my ear about whatsoever
brought you here

can you see through the darkness down here?
can you see the diamonds shining down there
where the heat comes up?

someday
when the work is done
we'll walk out from the mouth of the beast
into the midwinter sterile air
and we'll be just two small
dots of paint
on a white field canvas

one black, one yellow

To call this madness is no longer indignant,
nor would it be a cliche to call me;
Insane, mad, crazy, or wild.

I pilot a nightmare
at the speed of homicide
into the jaws of hell,
the heart of a storm.

My friends are jackals and demons,
With eyes glassy and trapped open.
Heartless as myself.
Howling vulgarities into the apocalypse,
laughing as they bleed
From the mouth.

With death as our bride, and
standing elbow to elbow with legends,
we bear gifts of iron and fire.
We scream into the sunset,
And we are immortal forever,
Even if we die every day.

Remember me this way,
as immortal forever,
Even if I don't see tomorrow,
For I am no longer
Flesh & bone
Steel & fire.

I am a legend.

With love,
Yellowjacket

an akin, crimsonshaded, thine Männlein whom walks, in flower fields of sunnysided, uppeth of meadows, reddish glay over the fabric of barefoot felt grass.
an akin Männlein, sherry of hope, lost in a positive o,
of tender disorientation,
a diving swim, into the ocean of flora.
as then cometh the blue rain, nutrition of soil.
  thee Earth-Mother whom weeps the Magnifique rays of joyful tears,
   cleansing our rooted hair of darkest, green leaves.
our happiness at ease, at rest, the Männlein guideth the path in plural lonliness.
aesthety' of sorrow, saddened laugh, glossing over us, as I,
  as me, myself and we, as a post raincloud rainbow.
  . . . beauty be christa, crystalled thy castle, her and herself. in our notioned, discovered a chrestomathy, in fairy dust the Männlein bathes,
   for the blind dea as a hearts passage.
  the dea, be love, being compassion,  companionated, traveled passenger alongside, the christa of vision, no matter the darkness eternal.
  Männleins, a plural loneliness, being happy, and to a'no less,
  nevertheless, and to a'no matter, shall be a metamorphism, into bonded singularity of two. never to become the dark, on a hill topped meadow field.
   eternity being Doe, the deer, a doubled horn in a forest, of no seareeds, no labyrinth of trees, a clear flower grass rag over a pure, moist soil, a livelyhood mud that is no longer faced darkened black.
   the Männlein walketh as two, together as ever, the red ray of fire, the meadow ray of soil, turned to our sun, the blind dea of the Earth-Mother,
   christa be Doe, a deer, we have seen the creation in words, phonetic.
    as we follow time, follow a nature, an adornment, shall we be as the Männlein?
    a mankind? an akin kind of human? our blind dea as compassion, an'n twey we have met, we shall, we may... we can be, must be the apostle of the deer, our spirit a Doe.
    The Männlein wanderer in a spring, atop the mountained hill, he be a hillflower itself, red as with Agape, deepeth his labyrinth'd heartcorner . . .
    so'th we have helped them found, an akin man'nkin, the allcreation, of dearest christa. so'th we have walked, where they have walked, in a sunnysided uppeth, yellowjacket meadows the field, barefooted on in grassy, wet soil, walked, along. as an Ardor of tin.