OF THE MOURNING MY FACES CAME...OFF

standing headless in a crowd of heedless energy

erupting through my skin- 

a seedless splay

To be a fallen faceless, masking what is placeless

every ghost then would be nameless 

again oar again

The perfect soul stood standing

quite invisible not landing

about ten thousand yeards aweigh!

D'Agate

feeding the plants

FEEDING THE PLANTS

I was walking around

looking for eight dollar bills

while thin, black females came through doors

going for 6 billion a pop

I used to drink, ugly

Now, I just feed plants

to all of the abandoned Buddhas

and forlorn Christs

whose messenger scribe notes

on waves

crashing over the bows

of my Ships!

WHY I LOVE LOOKING IN HER EYES

picture a vineyard in the late afternoon 

of a Fall day, the air is still;

a kind of smoke from burnt leaves

halos the field with a soft, embroidered crown

her eyes have the color of fresh grapes on the vine

Now notice the forest surrounding the field

it is silent and strong, mysterious and unmenacing

as it implicitly reminds you to remember your limits

and your responsibilities in the field

then, when dusk approaches and you have finished your day

you look at the vineyard and recall your youth 

with all its dreams you held so dear

and realize that they are still so close to here

Her skin is plain and fair

Her simple smile

Her raven hair

there is no more you need

Girôn d'Agate