"An Entire World of Delight"

There is a robin who hunts my grounds
This late summer afternoon.

An auburn, muted breast has he,
And as rain falls through this nearest air, he haunts.

I've yet found no Bird of Verse whose song or soul
Expresses so fully this moment--or impresses upon me,
Significantly so, its specific gravity; therefore,
Have I taken up pen.

The rain rages now at slant,
And perched upon our wall of brick
He waits for earth to soften
For he brings the peace of death.

Strange Days (Have Found Us)

"Of Some Kind Blues, Man"

"Capulet"

rien n'est sorti du papier from aislan' on Vimeo.

Oh, the Vibrations...

Bureaucrat & The Conspirators

More: geometaphysics.blogspot.com

The freedom of this afternoon is worn best.

A weather-beaten man, in solitary wander, feels the tug of jeans acid-washed; showers his immediacy with a tan of leather, radiant light: Glisten--Holy! Hotly!--of the Soul's Brilliance.

Just before the Spirits Market, an unraveling of garment to cover the glow and a masquerade of Propriety Compliance: "The greatest is behind."

There is a world--away from here--where a reality of Tonight's the Night makes more sense than its present mood, here--in our evening's Summer-Soft Contemplation (Parlor).

Dangerous Possibilities discover skylines as natural as By-Product's Thought.

Outside it's so pleasant that I long to terrify myself with psychedelics and allow These/Your arrangements to best suit themselves to Idiom.