PROVERB VIII
There are...

Passing through the
back alley network of secrecy...

Under a pale glass moon
the bones of Christ...

Reach down deep, deep,
to the very core inside yourself...

After years of wanting
nothing came...

Right now
alone in a room a man...

(Search Your Soul For What Makes You Whole)
I sit here and wage war on myself...

As long as there is no revolution forthcoming,
pray then for the breakdown...

A fortitude of futile fumblings
serene seraphs of serendipity...

Death sits across
the table staring at me...

I love you,
not only for how...

I was never
a subscriber to dogmatic doctrine...