Anything at all! Less wondrous than these dead beauties?  To whom I am devoted when other dead beauties sing I appear and vanish like crystalline birds, like aurora spangled flowers.

What more pure than dead beauty?
To whom I am devoted when other dead beauties weep for me.  So name them to me — name them in praise:

‘If e’er thy delight did belong to my caresses thou wouldst be bound with lead to the palace of Fate; you never will prevail — if they were crowned with a sable Queen and a robe of the sky.

I would not only expire but love you dearly in the Palace of Fate.

Every time, and every place, the dead beauties are the same; eaters of all things lovely — Time!   Upon whose watering lips
the world posies a moment (futile, proud, a costly morsel of sweet tears) gesticulates, and disappears — of all dainties which do crowd gaily upon oblivion and sweeter than any one; in life’s very fragile hour (when the world was like a tale made of laughter and of dew) used to stroll (very slowly) one or two women like flowers made, softly used to wholly move slender ladies made of dreams
(in the lazy world and new sweetly used to laugh and love with crisp eyes and frail, in the city of Shambala).

So three cheers for tyranny! Keep your dead beautiful ladies Harun Omar and Master Hafiz.  Aught less wondrous than these dead beauties to whom I am devoted when other dead beauties go vanish to appear like crystalline birds, like aurora spangled flowers.  What more wondrous than dead beauty?

For whom (aye) of all things it is to love, the dead beauties are the noblest (of all).

Somebody gave me this very wonderfully heart-melting poetry-spell, just in
time for the purgatory of my explosive Soul and Heart. For Dead Beauties are lost opportunities and nothing more.  

Anything at all!  Gaily upon oblivion and sweeter than anyone!

:: 04.11.2022 

Falling love, beyond every line, Resting on the wave
of Life, the breath of your deceitful partner.

Sense the hand of your partner and Capture it, and hold on.

Commemorated within the darkness
as Holidays are bedevilling,

Peer aghast, in time to remember!

Turned away by the force of love.

Be forever contained in silence

Cry for help

then Hold on.

Sings all broken hearts!

:: 04.09.2022 ::

How our faces are friends kissing mirrors
Our steps preceding us –> follows
rooms filled with unfinished visions
like fathom objects of perverted flesh

My head immured my eyes, burned bruises
without history or decency in life
broken teeth fill our mouths.

Like Jesus’ loaves of eternal bread.
:: 04.09.2022 ::

No child with scruples
says enough is enough
just as a litel year is no year
my father once said “eat by ear”
but eating by ear is very different
from reading and dying.

First of all, I am not the god
of food and wine but some poor mortal
not at home here with my gender and race.

i, am myself, but have no god.
— this doesn’t seem wrong to you, does it?

Not only wrong, but ignorant.
And how can you think that I am wrong in
pretending to know what I know?
—of course!

But inside your head you think you have
matched up to your heart ~! Then when
you’re dead — then again, we are
of one mind.

Dear heart, I only wish I had not made
you think so but were I to hide your eye,
and not allow you to get a glimpse
of what happens when to be free
you think of yourself as one who fears
—that makes it easier.

I have only one eye left and am ready to die
bravely accepting the silence which says

“i’m blind, blind, blind!”

God, have all these hands, all these faces,
all these mouths, noses, eyes, eyes, eyes?
How many of these goeth on
before a dream collapses?

Why is it so hard to believe that the god is silent

[Oh the Omnipresent One!
I’m not about to give up
all the unsolicited advice
I’ve been receiving!]

Inside these dancing, wonderous bleeding eyes!

A one-night Stand with Life!

:: 04.07.2022 ::

[‘Goeth: archaic third person singular present of go’]

WE speak to the shadows of broken teeth
dealing cards in meditation never knowing respect.

What geometry of chance sometimes violent outcome
Wishing for gold.

Instead picking  up dirt like a dead King buried
with his weapons of War.

How life shapes our life How desperate moments
shackle our heart inside a broken bleeding heart.

Buried inside moving clouds how souls watch love ~~
upon these fields so old as a white horse grazes
in a meadow outside your kitchen window — gold.

How afraid i am that there may be a moment when I fail
you my friend. 

:: 04.07.2022 ::