How Funny Your Name Would Be If

It Is Written In The Book Of Usable Minutes That All Things Have Their Center In Their Dying.

I Want A Bedroom Near The Sky, An Astrologer's Cave Where I Can Fashion Eclogues That Are Chaste And Grave.

Then Let Yourself Love All That You Take Delight In Accept Yourself Whole, Accept The Heritage That Shaped You And Is Passed On From Age To Age Down To Your Entity. Remain Mysterious; Rather Than Be Pure, Accept Yourself As Numerous.

The Evening Light Was Like Honey In The Trees When You Left Me And Walked To The End Of The Street Where The Sunset Abruptly Ended. The Wedding-cake Drawbridge Lowered Itself To The Fragile Forget-me-not Flower. You Climbed Aboard. Burnt Horizons Suddenly Paved With Golden Stones, Dreams I Had, Including Suicide, Puff Out The Hot-air Balloon Now. It Is Bursting, It Is About To Burst

In The Evening Everything Has A Schedule, If You Can Find Out What It Is.