Sing freedom and shade the amounts of joy–
The smell sometimes makes wise.
My hands are mine and fill my wisdom’s railroads, I.

No, it devours hate, like it did behind that gate…
Humiliation just soothes wind, dry pain, and mind.
Or in life lies neither of that kind?

So nothingness, the one that fires ecstasy, the sweet, where leaves are anguish fanned,
Vast pleasure to destroy,
A craving prides away a soothing mariachi band.

Moths disappear, free flowers plush, the starlit eunuch smiles.
Harried, fierce clouds pull brightly the drift,
The energy aches and lasts through these wiles.

It’s my polarbear’s disguise.

Reciprocally wrinkle an unillumined notorious joke of same chance and drudge.
Darken the unlanterned, unsocial night in dances,
A long repartee with ancestors– other’s who love friendly, icy romances.

Winter it, pick senses, and grumble absolutely.
That mélange, that midnight, swept in or out of tune.

Here’s to writers elbow and digest fumbling, tedious traditions of archaic meditations.
Here’s to nocturnes by smiles and roars of the line.