Ah, but to find a strand in for the night Made with pains and glands to recover In search of a coiled fleshy rose–desire Camouflaged in pure abandonment’s pyre.
Ah, but for the gliding strength of fountain tops The magic hour, enchanted growls Disciplined dancers with a flying chalice Ears bleeding with pleas for more farce, more prowess.
There will be time for surfing and downloading That a click will ultimately reverse
There will be time for a whisper to end in a howl For the touch of uncertain perplexion so radiant Insincerity drips through it sans balance Plain canvas, blood marks drained of passion Promises disillusioned gently disown, discolor.
1-20-2004 Pleasanton, CA