Hot is my tongue by the summer, and so are the shoulders of my lover.
(Soulful, he is to me– the man not naked as the sun.
Lo! See, thee interrupts the arcane. Magic Man!)
I remember meeting his never-lonely fire when the world was a blur,
And stayed, he did, until the dirt made sense. (Finally, finally, somebody flaming enough to stay!)
I am, then, parched. Patched, I ask– Is there something around other than the mayhem?
Ain't the liking grand when, with the heart, it's always escalating?
My pastel-loving baby, pink, hatches me just by the way he smiles from the grotto.
I pray for ...Read more
Gospel of Tempers 2:1 – The Satelliting Thoughts of January 6, 2019
The bad edits of me are the ones that are sticking.
My students, my bees, please think and never blindly romanticize.
I need my students and my bees to be happy. I need you all
To be not like me. Eventually, eventually
We're all to discover that even the undiscovered flower doesn't need the validations.
Even the wildest of us doesn't need the copouts and pascals and parabolas;
And flicks and films and drugs; and occassionalities and alkanes and prelights;
And the suffering. O', the suffering is an endless thing, it s ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.