2016 10 03
I know not how I feel after the world
mushrooms rainbows from swamp muck of my brain
since I love how it reflects ghost of my face
in shimmering pond where laughing rain dreams.
I am editing the tale of the world
to make it a better place we wish for
before I leave your invisible house
by leaping on broken wings through locked door.
I will go back to the garden of ripe fruit
and stand on the river shore without face
that you remember when you sang my name,
then cross high arching bridge of fragile stone.
Stepping from my grave, I will be the first
to unscramble old book of secret code
where name of every person who once lived
is written with tears of blood from my eyes.
I play the skeleton of many things
wrong with people who gather on lush hills
alive with the music of crumbling walls
where the baby king fell and cracked his brain.
I am Lucifer, the maker of light,
who appears on shore after thundering storm
cracked your ship, and leads you to pyramid
where you drink fruit juice bleeding from my heart.