Nothing
like a bit of
post-nut
clarity.

To shed
some light
upon this
darkness..
with sincerity.

Why do I even
need a muse?
I am my own
beauty.

My own
right hand.
Embodiment
of my own
truth.

Sometimes
the middle finger
doesn’t do
enough.

Sometimes
it takes an arm
up to the elbow
to do justice
to your love.

Quacks
like a rabbit?
Is a duck.
Runs like a duck?
My lady.
Luck.

What happens..
When you pray..
To the wrong
God?

If you lived well,
do you still
go to heaven?
Or to hell?
Or maybe not?

We only
get to find
that out
after our
Death.

But probably
we go to nothing.
That from which
we came.
The Nothing of
The …

There is a method
to my madness.
Madness of
the methods man.

Safety first.
Love second.
Trust the third.
God loves
The Trinity.

The One
in whom
It coalesces
loves a lover
of a love
with some
stability.

You are a great
performer!

Thank you..
So are you.

You do not
have to
say it back
just cuz.

I know.
I say it just
because
it’s true.

You and I
are both
performers,
fine and well.

Of our own
relational
reality.
Our own
heaven.
Our own
hell …

Climbing
against
each other
to the top of
The Mountain.

To a plateau
where fortune
flows like milk
out of life’s
fountains.

Upon the bottom
of its basin,
many fortunes
still remain
from those
who made their wish.

Some threw
a penny or a dime.
Some threw
their beauty …

I tell ye,
it is true!
The Devil
wears blue.
But how well
does she sleep?
Lightly or deep?

Do eyes in her orbits
jerk all around?
In that stage
of sleep..
When dreams
may be found?

Or are her slumbers..
dreamless, instead?
The peacefullest kind..
with no tears
left …

No blood is lost
between us.
It flows freely
into you
from me.

Because you are
the vein..
I am the artery.
We love
each other
through the
capillaries..
but the pressure
that sustains it
cometh from
The Heart.

And if a drop of it
is ever spilled..
it crystallizes …

In the beginning
there was..
The End.
Because all life
takes root
in that for which
it reaches..
Death.

From pole to pole
it flows
to circle inwards
and then
outwards yet again.

And so,
The End of all
beginnings
is naught more..
than the beginning
of The End.