now a well flown pilgrimage
plush in violet pseudo-cool airbus
flying over a landscape of i,
but starving artists still leave ny gloom
to work in the sunshine and cuss
the sea of palmtrees and pollution,
on a lonely search for creative powers,
never missing the blue hour.
few have that heart of the south
craving the sweet light but needing
the seasons, thunder and rain.
so, i turned and repented,
i turned and repented!
twilight came back like an old friend,
mariachis to paris street violins.
london where the jazz rains down
something magic in the music
storming in a new sound of honey.
so, i turned and repented,
i turned and repented...
moi, i om, one in peace with space,
one snuggling squeezing face,
and in the middle a vast homeplace.
bless your heart with meaning,
sickly aroused by the itch of a poem,
point in fact, both have wit and charm.
who knew every time i heard that song
it would give me a shiver in the dark,
reminding of the youth filled park,
taking the plunger straight up from creole.
first time emotions flooding innuendo,
a bicoastal virgin, riding the belt of venus
from thirteen thousand meters at solstice.
so, i turned and repented,
i turned and repented?
without a care our world read carmen 16
deceiving, profane, lusting latin poetry.
to know a man from his verses,
we need a new pronoun. gender free
ze, xe, xem, xyr, zirs, and hirs -O
declining like spivak -ey -em -eir or co,
but one must prefer thon forget polydamna.
masculine, feminine, inclusive drama
in noisy glare of manhattan noon,
or showing in the wrinkled freeways of LA.
the sun sets and rises with the redeye,
searching and finding the new ecstatic by the bay.
everyone has in them a little east and west!
embrace what feels right drunk, lonely, and curious.
alive in the blood of young transgressions,
mad woman bumps on the rite of passage,
where are the zhee, UT?
truly no need for bi-coastal confessions!
