It was me
and every motion
is my soul’s perfection
is as always that beauty
accordingly, I quarrel

January 17, 1961
“We pray,” he said
“that people of all faiths
all races, all nations..
will come to live

webs above, on which the spider ro
woven threads which my mind’s eye
spaced as perfected natural geomet
to clasp tight to one’s unsuspecti
Yes, it is a great big web;

This broken nail, these cloven hoo
my daze begins as I hoist up
my drawers and scratch my arse
upon mind’s opening porch
at first glance it seems

“the body of solid blue,
My Prayer;
that I, might clean away the rust,
in the crevasses, in the hinges, o
Come, with God and Gold and Pear

One’s conscious, proves unconsciou
therefore, its rest is sleep beyon
days past, soothes time’s exhausti
before the wind’s churn, stiffens
numbered, noted, nothing’s odd nau

somewhere,
beyond my soul’s profundity
the middle of all
the madness comes apart
feelings made worthless,

where it is up, there is a man
there is this man within his game
his game is somewhat improbable, y
although somewhat improbable it is
from improbable to not so impossib

Go on, go on and fall to your knee
do not pretend, that you are afrai
Pleasuring me…
Yes, do go and get your mandrake a
that black kettles fire…

Seriously, what is the truth,
certainly not a closeted mind’s sh
proofs pudding, full of time’s det
a nation’s sooth, rewrote in ‘cons
exceptionalism, aah those right ar