the undercurrent no doubt is blood red, umber, no small portion

too is black. the hue that holds all.

time has a lot to do with why it is she and yet it is she

who stands and seeks to stand here



the undercurrent is the dream state, the marginal rioting jungle

or is the truly slim margin the brightly lit columns where such tendrils erupt?

to live only for one moment, then die. but in the margin

(or do I mean to say outer fields) the dream state lives



sweet girl do not unsettle this hibuscus, you mustn't stir with gentle knives

such mayhem fit for theives and kings as really must be handled by gods and wizards

hermits and monks and to rudely bring up from dire sleep a churning mind is truly

to wake the angry undead



i make a lot out of what amounts to me getting polluted in the basement then busting

our place up

but what's stunning is you seem to love me yet



i guess it's worth wasting faith cutting limits and cutting into the margins

just to know this and i hope you feel

my thanks