A vein of burgundy
ebb

the dark pale blue
edge

An ache tingles
spines
and needles

fast beyond the dream
of a memory hedge

borrowed from the
rain drip ledge

divulged ecstatic
emissaries
as voilet
as Autumn

tufts of
forbidden
scars
where love
has lain

There is room filled with dead bodies,
poetic pieces-parts, strewn about
like
insect wars, black and red ants.
I never know which side wins,
do you?

just in space..
you are the master of yourself
learning…
I the master still yearning....

after the age of seventy
one is on the footsteps of senility
and someone at seventeen on the heights of juvenility
but all is relative…

pardon me some poetry is extinct,
yet it doesn't stink

a few current ones smell foul
some bad mouth
many spoil
yet the rife mind soils
the visions of those who appreciate
and don't think random

Banging on the gong
Gets her heart to thumping
Before it is too long
Her body starts to jumping

He bangs away all night
She doesn’t mind a bit
Jill thinks that it’s alright
She hopes he doesn’t quit

Jack is really great
He keeps on like a bunny
His timing is first rate
He don’t do nothing funny

He just keeps on the beat
Never falters once
She's potatoes, he’s the meat
Jack’s no bumbling dunce