Butterat_Zool's profile

Perhaps the first step Is to realize that you and I Have different definitions Of Friendship. While I feel That I have nothing to gain From fleeting "How are you?"s In stolen moments And public fora, It seems you thrive on that very thing. I see you flutter through Oceans of damp strangers, Giving each one pause With the hope that they will feed you Stories, Wisdom, or Lies Enough to engage Your manic innocence. I wait quietly, Armed to the teeth with Economists, Philosophers, Monas...

1. How do you become the best In an art steeped in Grand similitude, With boxes upon boxes Shorn cleanly to standa Rds measured in heliu M-neon lasers, and pol Ished to six-sigma mar Gins of error? 2. I wish you could see What's become of your majesty. Like the Han, the Stuart, the Khanate, Cruel time has eroded Your brilliancies That they may be doled Forth like borsht, be Slurped up and Shat Out By less creative men. 3. As you relax into the soil, Take pride in the fact that you lived Lo...

 I am haunted, of late By a continuing perception Of the Supreme Plainness In which I exist. Despite grand authorities, Respect for my elders, And the omnidirectional Pressures of societal navigation, The brightest light Remains the one directly observed, Without mirrors, ciphers, medicines, or proof. People grope daily For easy translations Of their deepest apprehensions. Cautious, I advise "Just Do the work yourself." But secretly, I fear They might name me "Priest."

 I am haunted, of late By a continuing perception Of the Supreme Plainness In which I exist. Despite grand authorities, Respect for my elders, And the omnidirectional Pressures of societal navigation, The brightest light Is the one directly observed, Without mirrors, ciphers, medicines, or proof. People grope daily For easy translations Of their deepest apprehensions. Cautious, I advise "Just Do the work yourself." But secretly, I fear They might name me "Priest."

 I spoke my mind, You crossed a line, And so we sang Of gin and wine And witnessed falls In three-fourths time Against the walls Of cherry-lime. You brushed your hair And flew through snow And lit a fire down below With all that you refused to know And so I plotted in my heart A way to keep up with your artful Scheming and your constant dreaming That our souls will never part. And in a torrid love affair, A torrent of your lovely hair Encroaching on my empty stare For eons wilts my bloss...