...and words still come to my fingertips as i undress you in spirit.

almost-friend, hold me tight and love me true / stare me down, see me as i am: disquieted, patinaed and accustomed to pockets / loose change, a worn copper penny; incoherent, the thrill and lurching sensation of gravity / blooming in my core as i die in my dreams; afraid, for all that word means / of the figs that lie waiting on the branches ahead / ample and pregnant with sweet-rot possibility;

we will labor, singing of light and covalence / until dusk is shorn of its gloomy nightgown / staving off the cold with what tea, what liquid light / the yielding sun could gift our wide eyes: / just ask, darling almost-friend / and i will provide, because…

you are a fawn, limber and knobby-kneed / and i am but a stranger waxing melancholy in stolen glances from afar / as you come into focus in my wood / drinking from my fountains and eating from my briars / leaving me to wonder, “how could i not love such a soul, astute and gentle as it is?” / and so i offer you food and drink because i have nothing else / you could be in want of;

but such things are not for me to behold / and i fear that you will molt your coat as seasons change / the down behind your ears yielding to antlers sprouting like milk teeth from gums / tendering tender for tenacious, grace for gruesome / that you will forget the hands that have proffered to you / sustenance and healing in your darkest hours / for to see others consume satisfies my hunger / to see others delight, my vicarious feast;

in my mind’s eye, you are unclothed and angelic / even with the ophidian basin of your back pressed flat against the tiles of a scalding shower / even with tears ravaging your honest face / here, the masquerade, the spectacle and circumstance, ends / because your rapture will betray your guilt / and we will summit new zeniths hand-in-hand / be baptized, enthralled in the fresh, algid, restless oceans we called forth from the far reaches of our globe / with nothing more than the labyrinth-etched palms of our hands / charting the great floods of yesterday / inking them into the annuls of a friendship (nothing more) for the ages;

celebrate holier mysteries in the anamnesis of that day / we rested upon sand fine as powder, crusted on our knees and elbows / as the ark of our covenant neaped and sprang with cyclical certainty / almost-friend, smile me but one more drowsy floodgate grin / rest your raven-crowned head upon my bare chest / laying in that tender way for eternity / and never again will i ask that wretched question of you: "are you with me?"

no, darling almost-friend: forget me not / because fair weather or poor, my love will remain / echoing truer far and far more sweet / than the oblivious whisper of a forest brook / or the stentorian thundering of an ocean reclaiming what once belonged to it / to know that i am cared for even a fraction of how i care for you is an honor/ and as but a stranger gazing from afar, i promise you this: i will far sooner take myself for granted than you / even should no tea remain to keep us warm, i will hold you till the storm passes / and forever will your name be engraved herein.

O wind, o air of present day wisdom. O insightful brethren of the gardens of reality. O ominous depth which no one has crossed in a day.
O head and eye, symbols of understanding and vision.
O hole, o void, on the floor of my being: consuming every normal thought I can muster.
O reflection of a reflection, distracting me from my first attraction.
Now I'm lost in this crystal cave of imagination, which breaths in the Spirit of the present day.
Was not this what I was seeking: to enter the boat rowing on this sea,
To look further in this void of my soul, which swallows every normal way and intention.
Rhymes here mock the true story.
Every creature of normalcy is swallowed by this nothing.
Only building a stronger ship and stronger rowing arms gets me further.

The Hood of the Worlds is worn by my guide
Sick with illness of body, this is the only way to cross the waves.
For nature is now forgotten, only winds of destiny remain.
Here comes the winds of despair blowing next to this ship without sail.
The writer's body fails mid-row.
Will the normalcy give it's cure to the seeker of the philosopher's stone, and cause this ship to sink?
The weird is precious here, but a day of normalcy before has shut weird's way as well.
I breathe into my gut the winds of sorrow, now the poison of malace wafta over the waters.
What will I stumble upon on this journey?
What could be in store for this adventurer?
Even the normalcy of the elements try to cure my disease of unrest.
Why not sail a ship by the winds of tomorrow?
With that last word, normal has bound my heart, now my limb.
I place my hand more firmly on the oars, but now wonder if I even need to row to find what I'm looking for.

I step aboard another bigger ship of a fellow seeker true.
He has sails that already blow,...with tomorrow?!
What have I done?
My poor boat was best, stricken by death.
But he reassured me: "I have food and supplies until sunrise".
But tomorrow is too normal still.
It's sun and Ray's, the billowing clouds, all make for me to sink back into the hole, the void.
Maggets fester, worms intrude, in the dark water.
Yet even these creatures' nature to decompose my body, is too normal for the void.
Being me, being man, being human, too normal too.
I'm only a spec, a mark, a dot, and once I manifested I get merged.
So I'll remain partially hidden in everything.

Is that what this is about?
That what I see is partially hidden for a point?
For a point to not sweep itself away?
Yes, the kingdom of heaven"in your midst" or "within" is just a way to keep the light just right for my own edification and entertainment.
Too normal this purpose is, for me to cross this void.
No, the point still hidden, that wondrous spec, is hidden due to weakness of me, it's observer.
Or else hidden and manifest would be one.
Look what I've found, I've come to "He".
A normal thing I do all the time, I know.
So this reason is too normal to bring a shade of new to this void, so peaceful it is.
"He" knows too much to seek out anything.
"It is you I seek" He says with utmost adoration of me, His subject.

If you seek me, and I seek to build a ship that can bridge the dark and the light, is your Ark, so strong, just another ship to poke a hole in?
"Why I don't know" was His reply.
I guess I'll climb aboard, and be His guest.
What do I seek?
A gem like no other, a tale fabricated that even I would be amazed at.
"I know what you seek" He says as He steers His Ark in it's direction.
"A million stars?" He asks.
"Even that is a common normal thing".
"A ship to cross them?" He wonders.
What is there our there that is more amazing than transcendence?
"Hmm, I wonder," He gives a smile of admiration.
"That's what I've said too" He agreesthe tale is told to a degree.

We are the forsaken son of Noah
And   water keeps flooding
we are the small tiny ant we step on
Without even knowing

We are on our own
Scared to the bone
And The end is coming soon

We  Got no ark
And the road is dark
We can't change fate
But surely we can bark.

Flower on the bank;
there was forgiveness for all,
but the River Rose.

i love you.
I love all of you.
Thank you
for having
me.
When again
there is an Ark
i will have all of you
with me.

Noah's Yellow Arches

Once upon a time when people lived long
Men walked with god but something went wrong
God spoke to Noah upset by the violence
Both men were solemn consumed by a silence

At the end of the almighty's speech
Noah imagined the heights he could reach
His family were chosen to start a clean slate
A flood would be coming from the heavens of hate

His sons were engaged to build a boat
A vessel unimagined by the average bloke
They sawed through timber from dawn till it dusked
A death warrant signed, they kept it all hushed

They gathered a brace of every fair beast
And harvested grain for the meagrest feast
They bound it in cypress and raised a roof
The Ark set sail in search of the truth

For forty long nights and for forty dark days
Rain fell from the sky in tumultuous ways
The deserts were soaked, valleys were drowned
All others perished and Noah was crowned

He walked to the deck saw doves in the sky
A wry sense of irony crept from his eye
A feeling rose up in this most pious a man
Why was he chosen to manage this plan?

He sat sea sick and contemplative
The new most important original native
As his pride bubbled his confidence grew
He thought himself king, with ideas a new

Why have i toiled in the mud and the rain
Working for a god who is both fickle and vain
He tells me he loves me then leaves us in drought
My children catch fevers my crops never sprout

He spoke to his keeper an old Mr Macdonald
he'd served him for years with his trusty son Ronald
when we make land our new life will be sweet
because I'm in charge now and were gonna eat

no more will we plan for a balanced tomorrow
we'll gorge ourselves on all we can swallow
these beasts we hold captive will never be free
we'll farm them so quickly to stupidity

Start with the chickens they've had too much space
pack them in cages then hormonally lace
imagine twenty thousand in one small field
we'll fatten our bellies on the omelettes they yield

of course some will perish before they can breed
so grind those ones back into chicken feed
don't worry about size or when you should slaughter
to make up the difference we'll pump em with water

Now as you all know my favourite is beef
the succulent flavour of steak through the teeth
for this will require the clearing of trees
'the end of all forests' I'll sign the decrees

But Noah what about the bats and the frogs
get to work Ronald and chop me some logs
by the way boss we'll need more grain
the cattle eat half its hard to sustain

The chemicals used might pollute not please
and there's always the chance of mad cow disease
Dont worry my boys i've thought all this through
on both bats and frogs there's little to chew

the grass we'll genetically alter its code
keep all the seeds so no one should know
the illness will be named variently
call it something fun like human cjd

enough of your moaning i want this thing branded
not talking pokers, I want yellow arches clown handed
I want plastic wrapped around toys in a box
I want diabetes disguised as a healthy detox

I don't care for soil and **** the oceans
not even bothered about factory explosions
as long as the workers are fat or obese
their children are stupid and easy to fleece

Noah stood defiant as the Ark hit the shore
he clenched at his chest his left arm was sore
Ronald enquired about a subsidiary
Noah's heart exploded he died in the sea
Ronald opened his doors in 1940.