This longing to live in a world
Where everything makes perfect sense;
The way a dream makes perfect sense;
And it does, when awake enough to see it.
In the Alameda park, between two pines, their roots…
Author: <span>Dr. Jeffrey P. Charest</span>
This one day a mouse covered in platinum sheeting went for a
ride on his toady-steed. Nothing was intended to be gay about
this for the mouse was in a furious mood…someone had stolen
his innards in the night! Mouse was sure he knew who had
them: it was
Tree of Birds: “…when the old man opened his mouth and spoke…” In the 1960s, a Swiss scientist named Hans Jenny discovered that when he conducted the vibrations from a…
Aj-Jinnia of drunken poesis, my words find their freedom in you. I almost forgot how to touch you with the tips of thoughts and feeling. I remember seeing, When robo-tripping on cherry-syrup cough medicine,
Eliška,
It’s the ten-thousandth poem I’ve written for you–
Your memory is a grain of sand
Stuck in my heart;
Eliška,
It’s the ten-thousandth poem I’ve written for you–
Your memory is a grain of sand
Stuck in my heart;
It hurts and it won’t come out.
All these words, songs, stories, thoughts,
Are nothing more than layers of pearl
I wrap around it to smooth it out,
To make something beautiful of it,
To make it less bitter, not a waste of time,
As some more calloused fool would have it.
Let’s play a game of No Leaders—each of us imagines
ourselves as drops of water in a wave rising up, higher, faster faster, rushing towards the old rusting castles on the shore,
We started off together like gypsies in a camp of many colors; we were fairies we were humans we were
canaries we were badgers, we were stones peering from leaf-lidded eyes at a world like lightning flashing
by.
Now we’re talking about the myth that says All genius is insanity, And madness is the end of poetry; If being alive, feeling Spring’s breath, Summer’s lust and sweat, Autumn’s razor sadness, Winter’s