Wednesday, January 7, 2015



Open door frog croak man lifting lumber
longer than I am this matter I uplift
subtended by substance the soul unveils
the Middle Ages never ended the pilgrims saunter
all the kings of earth still fail their pentecosts
only the beauty is missing the flowing spontaneity of stone
Autun, we have our weathers too our smooth
flaming sunsets in suburban  prose
will the sun on the sea be enough for me
sit on the ground and let the world tell
all your talk is reference book and parliament
what your body knows only body can pronounce.