I live on my feet, mostly climbing trees, handing my poems to the sun, burns them good, and I am not so alone, rooted to hills of dafodills, where ducks often go to derail things.

A fish that sucks on stuff, she is no love of mine, and her flashing lips they hypnotize, in intervals of fish saliva, fall as soon as the moon rises, enter a cosmic parade, masks run in circles, speaking nonsense, but you love the hidden gold that smells like sea weed, just growing more licken, and licking till pops the tart open.

Destroy oppressor, destroy.

Democrats are getting into blue sun positions.

The Bay Area will rise again.

Show me your wardrobe.

Trump can not demolish your concerns, your concerns are themselves not to be thy self, the cards play wild cards, and Trump breaks through walls, thanks to thinking big, a big wall, big bank, big bucks, and a whole lot of love, not enough to go around, but firm as a stone, bold as an eagle, a doonsbury cartoon, a golden lapel, the civil war to end them all, we are all guilty, but when will we merge into Africa, when will we live small, with less, in a tent?

A kick is not for my ribs only.

Commonly known as a creep.

I drop the cosmic egg and it breaks, time shifts in new ways, shifts fingers into grand designs and cloud like shape, and the crass lobster lives in a triangle, as the mods eat the shrimps..

We pursue tecknology and ignorance at our own peril.