i am smoldering....
a mass of blistered flesh.
wings burned and curled...
the charred image of remembered humanity.

i am feeling my life...
figure eight on it's side...
to end is to begin.

only in heaven
could there be...

such perfection.....

knowledge of bliss and anchor of body.

perfect pain....perfect love .....

i am the glove upon his hand.

and so are you...



the lines that were here,
played connect the dots.

and then....

poetry was the reason...
the parable of time.

funny how thoughts can reach out
like silver spider webs...
and attach to those
whose thoughts have attached themslves
to you.
no matter how hard you try
to shake them... as if you knew better than they,
there's always one or two that
stick like a fly... waiting to be sucked.

loving love, all back to you