Archive for all the stuff I call poems that I have written over the last 30 years and that I still continue to write, oblivious to the fact that they might be little more than doggawn atrocious in the eyes of those who might not know how to generate within themselves the bliss invisible.
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Pulsin'
pulsin’ like a prince in our galactic ¼, if we could see it’s true size, arise in line an’ comprehend the majestic ascension of pulse without = we would shut up an’ melt within a second, hiccupity hiccity hup!
