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My childhood-was in St. Paul, a neighborhood

where fair lilacs were growing-

pink and reddish red. My youth at seventeen

(on this planet earth, of paving material and concrete)

I say just a part of my life, concede me...not sure

where it went.

I was found by masses women, to be a home for them

cupid of the neck of the woods , rear legs later.

I am level-headed and singing in a wakeless drum

a abstraction of a percussive instrument (some say):

I worship make-up in all forms, even black roses-

and blueish jays and yellow chowder next to pullet floating
on top.

I tendency sluggish or unrefined brass. In my silence I listen

for echoes, from the facade of the world.

Today at the café, the man crosstown from me-

staring and writing, black hair, ominous glasses,

under an umbrella, (perhaps gay)

is shouting stuffing his skin, for a friend, to look

mysterious for him-, he had a communication to give, and

I didn't steal it...!

Men by themselves hope

to chat as gods someday, peradventure to be one, or

looked upon as, so it seems at the end

they walk off the worldwide next to pocketable or nothing,

but a renovate of cloths and hat, perhaps a

mattress and bed....

And when comes the day, our boat comes in, to take

us distant...never to return, we're all undressed again!

Comments: The livelong fancy enterprise of sentient and our bodies and minds collapsing after time, is written, and memorized insightful inwardly us, here is case for everything it has been said, nether the sun, but walking will not get it done, we essential run with the weather condition to plague all the gaps in our psyche and minds. Thus, a hasty examination, a profile, if you please, is needed today, or so I feel, and now you got it.

#1680 2-6-2007