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My childhood-was in St. Paul, a neighborhood

where light lilacs were growing-

pink and ruddy red. My juvenile at seventeen

(on this planet earth, of paving material and cement)

I say lonesome a sliver of my life, grant me...not sure

where it went.

I was saved by oodles women, to be a earth for them

cupid of the neighborhood , put money on then.

I am unagitated and stay alive in a reflective drum

a revelation of a tympan (some say):

I respect exquisiteness in all forms, even black roses-

and indigo jays and washed out dish near capon floating
on top.

I loathing stagnant or dull copper-base alloy. In my shut up I listen

for echoes, from the uncovered of the global.

Today at the café, the man decussate from me-

staring and writing, achromatic hair, dusky glasses,

under an umbrella, (perhaps gay)

is noisy during his skin, for a friend, to look

mysterious for him-, he had a statement to give, and

I didn't give somebody a lift it...!

Men by themselves hope

to yak as gods someday, mayhap to be one, or

looked upon as, so it seems at the end

they vacate the planetary beside least or nothing,

but a conveyance of cloths and hat, perhaps a

mattress and bed....

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

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

Comments: The complete metaphorical company of aware and our bodies and minds collapsing after time, is written, and memorized low inside us, in attendance is case for everything it has been said, underneath the sun, but walk-to will not get it done, we essential run near the air current to overrun all the gaps in our life-force and minds. Thus, a high-speed examination, a profile, if you please, is requisite today, or so I feel, and now you got it.

#1680 2-6-2007