There is genius in this man.

Such blood upon withered hand, a room scattered with rapeirs from rapes, and below the hunch backed slaves, a war on all upon the streets, knifed in the back, on their knees, oach this inhumane scene, that bloody hand, can it feel the shame?

The Puritans believed far more in death then sex, but I loved them anyway. Together we avoided sin and prepared for a painful death and the meeting of Jesus on the other side. In play acting we would give warm hugs to each other without getting too close or to cause dancing. The crosses on the graves were things of beauty and being Jesus felt fine.

I am still caught between worlds, a burbbling pool of lost innocence, yet returning from the hole, my life renewed and slightly dirty, looked upon a if an apparition glowing green in brightest sun beams, and shattered glass cleaned from cement and chalk from abandoned black boards that read of bloody shame, the frozen bodies of youth and black spots of death upon the rest of em, and setting suns for years blaze across the earth for plants and birds and the grave yards on Colma Hills.

Some relief is at hand, to slay the beast of destruction.

The end of the poet as we know it. I feel pain and it is no secret. I make the rain and like water you drink . With heavy minds in disarray a little wonder is magic. Your swords of power are made into pens. Then you write as well.

Peace on earth, good will to man!!!

Lets do the win win dance!

I also did Judo. It led me to wrestling. Now I have a pet rock at long last! A true buddy!