Four horses will be foaled today
under a golden rope of sky
they will be riderless
until the end of the world
or its beginning,
judgment creeps in like a thief
and steals hope from the manger
there are tapestries woven with
a thousand green Hallelujah threads, there are lotus blossoms
blossoming in the fire.

Heavenly bodies yearn for birth. Blackbirds darken the sky.
I speak
to the wind,
words blow away.

by the window sits
collecting drops
of day sized thoughts

"its all in the angles"
discerning dusk
decieving dawn

breaths yellowed
lampshade curve
like a hand
turning the sullen
knob
the skein of veins
like the beauty of
lace

"designs of fortune"
your tea leave taste
that lingers like rain
falling in its haste

Notwithstanding the angle of the arrow
Pointed towards Loved...
One who is too much of a narcissist
and egoist,
Incorrigible to the core
Is audacious to call some poets ,of yore

One who knows no poetry?
That’s for sure,

How in hell, Loved produces
A gem off and on,
One can’t be too sure.
But the best chiseller
We have met,
Is our dearest friend,
We all know…

I've got myself this, "theory"
a crazy notion, my mind voluntarily, had;

I consider all things to be mathematical
and if they're worthwhile you'd best learn, to add.

Just total, all of your blessings
and, your sorrows you'll have to subtract;

you'll then see, a much clearer picture
that life's good, and that that's, a grand, fact!

You cannot add up all, your worries
for to add up your fears is not right;