Jun 012018
 

The indiscretion of small seeds and hugs.

 

See me hidden, barely visible at least, almost under a rug.

 

I rage with the happiness of fools, the delight of wise wonders and the ecstasy of scientific saints.

 

The spring within me flourishes, trickles, runs, dances and stands upright like supreme voltage arcing from earth to sky.

 

The colors of multi-rainbows, heathen bright sparks, and heartfelt dissuasions.

 

Hurled happy forwardness.

 

Bold and unknowing of duress.

 

The sparkle, iridescence, of gods.

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Apr 162010
 

Oh Iceland

Now we receive your ash

After that big spending bash

You won’t pay back the lenders

We can smell the sulfur in the air

Why turn us all bear

The sky is grey

The airlines stay

Upon the ground

What no snow

No fog

No ice

can do

Your ash has won the weapons run

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