Whose ***** is she,
someone stands on the corner,
influencing the planets with her sign
did **** take a hit?

pain. take care
sweet heart
deliver to me inside me hurts

The names of plants are plenty -
incant and hope in chemicals
the ground to rise or give up.

Messages are soon delivered on trains
We are the World
her horrible tragedy is over,
And what minerals selling
points to the plot,
In comedy.


The scene photograph
peirces me in these pictures
wheels white and soundless
A good show in goldleaf
, and know little else-
for i am alone in her theater
without her,
Just me and my pipe,
now, simply existing;
a heaven on earths i do not care for.

Time in Doses too little
Love my libel on his word,
just asked in my bible.

I'll be someone's lesser,
now, firmly believe in pain
wandering begger
and blindly pulling off
all that I've gathered inside
A hypodermic needle.

So long ago and far away
to the frosty night
I traveled on that pipe
so far to or from
When it will begin

carry a tune,
caligraphy,
darned socks
we're all aboard and
A Northern wind
Spirit gifts us.

Horrors
were just time spent quilting
A train pulses
its pillow smoke
as she hushs the neighbors to sleep
along the tracks
Erased the last few yards.

her beautifully closed eyelids
meets next to each stop
Steam rises up to my nostrils
as pulsing dreams
I was
Loved once in traveling
in those pillows that gather up on the down thrusts.

We are the world as theives
to old pipers music,
notes inside the body
of these discordant tunes.