an arras of
coloured droplets in living water
stretching through eternity
opposite
synchronous
intricately and intractably intertwined

each whole a portion of
individual
undivided entirety
winking in and out
quickly, ineffably
weaving
freezing, as

unable to keep fast a single moment
thoughts and deeds
even while being processed and consummated
have elapsed
become

Viragi

monsoon bathe
the depths swarm
down streets churning
in the oily lamps

sweeping trash and gutters
with its passion

lay lost while the world
asunder groans
in the winds
a dark brow in the light
like an arch of night
and lashs restless
when the rain throws
itself against the rooftops

Look at my pecker, it's erect
standing proud and tall
it has quite a startling effect
if it's seen at all

And it has a dark red head
much more red than most
(oh yeah, I named my pecker Fred)
Fred's most startling I must boast

He likes to plunge into tight holes
he plunges in then plunges out
all ins and outs demand high tolls
for he must, in doing, remain stout

Slowly I take my pencil and draw
the first lines of her sweet face
Little by little, she begins to take form
I sketch in her eyes, and they now speak to me

I begin to talk with her as I work
"There you are, Judith"
She is becoming real to me
Nearly alive again, but forever still

For I cannot recreate her soul
I must get this one just right
Her Mother awaits to see her again
The child she has not seen since the day

Grapellish mountains way up in the sky

surrounding these tint-shadowed towns,

marmalade-cheese colored steps merely try

raising all up above cry-stained sounds.

The sob-colored bay leaks each lie that dissolves

every fence that this party has made

out of government rules, which quickly involves

auditions for the All Fools Parade!

It's tin-silent free to enter by choice

should the government ask you, be there;

color all thoughts with the hues of your voice

but, they'll take both your eyes if you stare!

Home-Thoughts, from Abroad a poem by Robert Browning.
It was written in 1845 while Browning was on a visit to northern Italy,

OH, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

At times I seek out solitude.
Those who know me understand
that spirit with which I'm imbued
oft seeks to roam through silent land.

Well, this was just such a day
mid-winter cold with hint of breeze.
So I got into my old red truck
and went to set my soul at ease.

I drove past many bustling towns;
past people crowded far too close
who walked the walks with worried frowns.
Yes, I drove past all of those.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I am not anymore
cute and smiley
that's the least of it
the rest may be too gruesome to tell

I'll tell it anyway

a disjointed
and disappointing
tale of social and cultural deafness

I did whatever I wanted
whenever
without counsel
of elders of peers

rejecting appeals to "think about what you are doing"
I chose rather, to meditate on being "stuck in the Now"
no five year plan,
no what if's
no backups
or net

Married men, married men
Always looking out the pen
Desperate not to leave the fold
Seeking cos they're growing old
Wondering bout their fading looks
Not thinking who'll be the cook,
do the washing, be the cleaner
Men grow older, they get meaner

Females seeking men on net
Will eventually hunt and get
Stupid married searching men
Hoping life will come again
In the form of twelve years younger
Than the current aging mother
Of their children and of them
thoughtless silly married men