>Waxing?< {a gift of words}

Black! Black! The sky is black! Crescent, dots, window plots, open heart and open plane for open eyes to open gaze on circle dots moon plots moon dots moon hots shot caught shot. not. please me. please me. pick me. please me trick me freeze me nothing less than melt me felt me yes the sun sleeps when I shelter do not moon waves when nights start fade when lights grow haze when haze grows haste when haste breaks hope when hope is lost by lost crossed lost not lost here lost times lost is LOSTXLOST! and drawn across the hand that holds the pen that grasps the hope that gasps but where did it go and where did it get to why is it lost and does it have friends who hope that its heart is heavy with health who rebuild all the shelves that deter from the shells that shelters will dwell when the dread lies ahead of your pillow in bed and your head is consumed by the sounds of your room and the sights without lights and the shades of the night when we shake not from fright but from possibilities inside of ourselves from the shelf that is our self that the H is before I but after I is J and after me is who? and after you? that too? can we contain? can we restrain? can we refrain? can we abstain? can we be trained! and in training is straining of the mind or the soul the desirable hole to enter below before we shall blow before we shall know before we can go where we go when we know we are known and in knowing are we showing? what were showing isnt growing but it is rowing and it is flowing and the flow that has fled from my head to my bed is it best to be bettered by butter or batter or to bat her with a saturday that is saturated with sadness and hate or to sit back and wait to hear the delay but never the presence? the resonance is recent and is combined with a line from a much older rhyme a rhyme about rhyme that we rhyme with a rhyme for the sake of its self is the sell that we failed, but if you teach me i will have been taught and if you learn me I will have been learned and in learning we are all turned into the one thing that we all yearn and is it knowledge or bliss for itself? can we decide which desire to shelve? can we divide ourselves from the shelves? for the shelves are just storage for things we can't sell and the sill of the window is dirty as well but not as a well oh well oh well well well we were well before we fell ill and doubted our health for the heathens have happened upon their own hell and have opened the doorway from heaven to yell what they followed with their falling from the places they dwell and the cabs that they hailed were nailed to untell of the stories of hail they hailed from above from the heavens where hail was below the suds of the soap that the burped from clouds filled with love and sent rounds off the sounds of the clouded undones in doing what wasnt what wasnt it dumb what wasnt it young wont wouldnt it come back to wonderful want and wondering what it wouldnt wait wasnt the worst way to while the day for a day for a dollar for a dollop for a doll drop for a pall bared by bears in garb of others wrought hard wouldnt ought to think yards of miles of inches between the belted loop orien waxed wanting to be in the heavans in the stars in the dark in the night out of sight but in sight when alone for miles for darkness that seperates is darkness that reveals and darkened was the end of the spaces concealed and cornered and quivering stars that would quiver in dark and quit when the lark would swallow the dark and the black black black night was not night not right not night full of sight seeing in sight but what was sought in the sight was thought lost in the light? where did the night  go how does the moon know white moon right moon black night nice night rich night night night black black black black night black black black black black sky blackend black by!

THREE MARCH TWO-THOUSAND-NINE