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My childhood-was in St. Paul, a neighborhood

where sundrenched lilacs were growing-

pink and blood-red red. My juvenile at seventeen

(on this planet earth, of asphalt and concrete)

I say with the sole purpose a particle of my life, forgive me...not sure

where it went.

I was found by frequent women, to be a house for them

cupid of the neck of the woods , backbone next.

I am tranquil and inhabit in a gaping drum

a vision of a percussive instrument (some say):

I esteem allure in all forms, even black roses-

and light-blue jays and yellowish bouillabaisse with fowl floating
on top.

I disposition lethargic or unpolished brass. In my suppress I listen

for echoes, from the shell of the worldwide.

Today at the café, the man crossed from me-

staring and writing, black hair, muddy glasses,

under an umbrella, (perhaps gay)

is howling inside his skin, for a friend, to look

mysterious for him-, he had a phone call to give, and

I didn't take it...!

Men by themselves hope

to parley as gods someday, maybe to be one, or

looked upon as, so it seems at the end

they leave the world near puny or nothing,

but a coppers of cloths and hat, peradventure a

mattress and bed....

And when comes the day, our liner comes in, to take

us away...never to return, we're all au naturel again!

Comments: The livelong flamboyant firm of breathing and our bodies and minds collapsing after time, is written, and memorized insightful within us, in attendance is incident for everything it has been said, lower than the sun, but walking will not get it done, we must run near the entwine to swarm all the gaps in our soul and minds. Thus, a swift examination, a profile, if you please, is required today, or so I feel, and now you got it.

#1680 2-6-2007