All ye roses that wish to be free of earth,
bloom ye differently
Expel the horror of thy beauty
with the aid of the ugly ones
Live to life.
People have to go MAN
\
The good vibes are dead.
I have not lived
I wish to free the roses.
I dont want them to scream anymore_
Women, what are you waiting for.
Dire magic — the curse of the birth,
Dance no more,
there’s nothing to show for all that thrashing
the lights
are done and down
How do i keep it alive / Im standing on the orange coals of whatever
My stupid rainbow has a human-like fickleness,
With this moniker of “my” it can only be so;
that breed of consciousness which infatuation sews
belongs to the lonely loners —
not the lovers left alone
but those who are destined
to call loneliness Home
CYCLE
Hurt — do the things you loathe
Hurt — and loathe the things you do;
hold them in high disdain,
and pay thyself not
the heed one is due
lemony night — one night that contains several others. “i’m a person”, i think, “i think” #sometimes. with my Magic, a candle i brought in silence alights/ i, a lurid green flame, an Eye sees/ “Yall be less quiet around there” Voices, not semi ready for/
calling out, in chorus with the earth, those who love Her/ i hone the essence of the Great I
###”magic” here can be utitlized/accepted as a (personal) pronoun OR in this context in lieu of “self”