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Where will you be
When the METEOR falls onto the roof
An ascension from the apogee of apotheosis,
Coy collusion of coteries,
Will your intrepid pluck be your auspicious aegis,
Will you pristine sagacity be your halcyonic alacrity
Where will you be
What will you do
When the METEOR falls onto the roof
10.9.2019
To an incipient revelry,
Death paid a visit.
Introduction; Cognoscenti of all the dances and all the wisdom of the world.
Nascent bulb blithely beamed; perhaps not so keen
On the carnal limits within this effervescent hourglass.
But a bulb is a bulb. What can it do?
It will breath in the air,
Soak in the moist,
Boldly grow.
Grow, bulb. Grow.
Grow larger than the Death.
10.8.2019
Remember coldest darkness shines the smallest incandescent candle light.
Scary skeletons are what kept you going when things fell down to floor
Nagging neighbors and obnoxious passerby were who cared about you
When things took a different turn.
Try believing.
10.7.2019
Running down hill,
Rushing past many things.
Perhaps time is not too relevant when you are running fast.
We shall arise.
We will see for ourselves
What this world will become.
Just a little jumps,
That’s all that is needed.
10.6.2019
Grenade balloons won’t do it
Serenade by millions of clowns won’t do it
Cascades of golden milk won’t do it
Perhaps the dance of last summer is what counts.
But poems soak and bleed their ink
Heated strokes of heart cool down
Flesh so tender will wither
Well then.
I hope my probated story will last,
And that my eyes now are clear
10.1.2019
After a shower of sweats,
Cold tears in a dark room,
Dawn breaks beyond the horizon.
“You took the shot”—
Yes, this morning glow is what I’ve been waiting for.
All the swords that dug deep within my flesh dissolves into a shadow.
“You took the shot”
Yes, I did. And I’ll take more shot,
Until I hit a star.
9.30.2019
clicks of your shoes on a dark asphalt
echoes through an empty road under the night sky
fireflies flicker about the light post,
chilly winter breeze hurriedly pass us by,
Perhaps a bundle of fiddles, we are
dancing on a gentle breeze, harsh breeze, tornado,
earthly bound, soaking underly redoubtably grand sunlight,
perhaps we grow a little,
perhaps we spread out a little,
perhaps we laugh a little.
clicky-clack, dancing through this infinite night.
9.26.2019
For a drop of soul lost in an silent ocean of darkness,
For a rusted needled buried deep beneath billions of grains of desert sand,
There is a resonation.
An invisible, perhaps unbelievable, resonation whispers a promise.
Rise tomorrow.
Repeat. Again, and again.
We shall meet in our glory atop of heave of our works.
Overcome and repeat,
Within a blink of an eye, we’ll be there.
9.25.2019
Don’t accuse that man playing guitar sitting by the side walk bench in his melancholic tune.
Perhaps you may wonder how he dares to waste his time so imprudently away while you walk by trotting away.
Perhaps you may want to consider if the man had a crash of tragedy in his life.
Perhaps you may prefer pondering if you had a violin string snapped, sprung into a spiral.
Don’t accuse the man. But just walk away, listening to this music.
9.23.2019
Perhaps you’ve known already.
That we aren’t meant for lofty breeze,
Rather a summer night of radicals
That call forth what laid in our bloods.
Howling of lunatics aren’t sharp enough
For in silence, action implodes in speed
No motion needs no proof or cause.
For in this moment, nothing else,
But we live only.
9.16.2019
Ralph with Coffee 
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