gorgeous lines,
rise eyes, but not always brains,
I want to sing,
In a language of the stars,
Once, i lived on marz,
Not drugs, no, but
sweet delphic isolation
that still says without cut,
what is real, is not that
but what touches shoulders,
with the remnants of what was once there.
these in books, thoughts, all sung,
hung matter, in loom, fruit to bear,
but why would i care?
to learn, yearn with the full of my soul,
that is the only way to have one's cup full.

I need tools, rules, but what the heck,
who says it's good practice to load deck,
i don't pretend to play fancy,
no would i like to,



god. what the heck, simple luck, gut stuck,
matter without end, but what?
drink vitimen water, grow and deplete soil,
but new drugs won't wreck the forests,
deplete the nature plethra of organic formed,
coal, but mosrso, bacterial and an interweb,
that depends on itself,
to die and be burried, born,