What if love is just imperious soma,
Spume of hormones and the baying blood?
And what if all I do is dream in coma,
Mind unillumed by some alter god?
Still the day appears anew in east a-crimsoned,
Arising solemn from dark hills behind.
Still I thirst for air and pine for pleasure,
Still I hunger for more “love” in kind.
My feet do feel as though they trip this measure–
See that I see, though both lame and blind.
Comment by happyfeet on 6/15 @ 7:24 pm #
These are not healthy questions. You should dig around and find a tv show you always wanted to watch but never did and go get every season on dvd. Well, that’s what works for me. Spume is a great word by the way.
Comment by JHoward on 6/15 @ 8:13 pm #
Yours, Dan?
Comment by happyfeet on 6/15 @ 8:23 pm #
That’s a very Dan title.
Comment by Toby Petzold on 6/15 @ 10:56 pm #
Nice pottery.
Comment by Witheld on 6/16 @ 10:05 am #
I am always have a hard time rhyming “a-crimsoned” too. No shame in that.
I have some suggestions that I have had the good luck with my own self:
1. Ashley-Simpsoned
2….
Okay. maybe just the one (suggestion).
Comment by frank p on 6/17 @ 4:25 pm #
It’s the Real McCollins.
Be assured that Life is all those things and more.
Though Death is always lurking there outside your door
Worry not what waits within the void.
As long as Life is Life, it’s life to be enjoyed.
And yada. yada, yada
Can mean glada, glada, glada;
Not just sada sad sada.
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