Like an old plowman-warrior splendid in his armor
This aspiring paladin
Straight out from a Goya etching
Finds his himself ‘equally mad’

And creeping along the grounds of Eden
As he sets his sights on Orpheus’ lyre,
Which plays itself, itself~swaying
Amongst the moving rocks & trees,

giving it’s gift
of solace
to the w¥£∆e animals
& slithering beast~

yeah–that slithering beast
who miraculously has (like finally)
has grown himself not some balls
but a pair of arms & legs


Now read this


Just a few months after Cathy Earnshaw kindly drove Heathcliff ‘mad- ly off,’ begging him to ‘just go’ and ‘rob a gold mine!,’ Heathcliff returns years in advance–not simply as a thief or some pale white gypsy chewing the leathery meat... Continue →