Aeolian Failure

Blow, ye breezes

All meadow-fresh;

Blow and bring mine ear

Ev'ry word and deed isolate of 

That heavenly She 'gainst whom

E'en thy spring-filled wind can

But too poorly compare, not 

Half as sweet as 

Her slightest sigh 

Or whispered breath of love.

The Button Issue

I have outgrown 1977 and, as a result, I need more pin-on buttons now than we used then (4). Like, for: "Kinky Sex, Hard Drugs, Perverse Rock (and) Load Your Own Ammo." (10 buttons in 2015.)

Clones

Clones? They're just seedless people. 

It's hardly rocket science.

Unrolling The Scroll

In youth we once

Walked as one, sly 

Moonlight leaving silver

Dollars where day had hung.

But leaves,

Hand in hand in hand,

Closer than any mystery,

Our mingled spirits trod

Familiar ways to our

Tryst amidst the trees.

Needs revealed and

Nightly satisfied, sated in

That dappled glade;

Flesh was freed and of 

Our lust a love was made.

And made to last 'til

Next our steps, 

Of their own accord, 

Brought us back to 

Once more ford

No stream of dream but

That moonlit flow that

Lover's hearts do not

Need to see to know.

Pawn ‘Til Dawn

A morn' too short 

To hold my dream of 

A blissless trek, a

Mad tramp through 

Trash-strewn gaps in 

The Dreamtime, alleys 

Littered lots, trails on 

No map that I know, yet

Some instinct both 

Old and cold took 

Hold, my hand was held 

Was pulled and I 

Impelled to follow 

No bird so hard had

Ever fled for home, never 

Knowing why or what it

Was that led, which no 

Knowledge fed, but still 

No hesitation in 

My tread, no trepidation 

In my head all hollow, thoughtless,

Wilful while all bereft of will

And inside no "I" to guide 

Or fight against 

My headlong flight 

That must've lasted all the night

'Til mornings laser did ignite

Both eye and mind with 

Sunlight bright 

And to what did I awake?

My bed a shambles, all

Covers thrown, body aching to 

The bone, my martyred muscles 

Full afire, the purest pain from 

Pore to core and plainly plastered

Over all, one burning question:

Whatever for?

Loving Violence

Liebchen, sit, please take a chair 

I'll truss you tightly there

Perhaps I'll pull your hair 

Then beat you with a cane

Until you go insane 

Or maybe I'll use a switch 

You naughty little bitch

It will slap and hurt and such 

But you won't bleed as much