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Neen and Grampa, Love You Always

Neen and Grampa, Love You Always

webs

webs

Angel Robin

Angel Robin
MANY of these photos are courtesy of my SoulMate, my Beloved Eternal, Robin Taylor.

We Meet Again...

We Meet Again...

Lovers

Lovers

VirtuosoBabe

VirtuosoBabe

FreddieBrianBabyKitty

FreddieBrianBabyKitty

Cathy's Babies

Cathy's Babies


Saturday, June 7, 2014

a kafka bug suite: a Kafka character dream

movements I
purple bubbled "p" pops; tis letter number three in "sip your drink, mate..."...
everything slants shrilly once again;
I feel me slipping...falling---
pity, as Purple stands Royal,
like that Creature in your glass...
purple letters create too much noise...
      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Movements II : consoling Violets

Limbo'ed Raven-Folk reside in card-hotels;
those who do not fear.
those who do not dare to fear-
they visit -
we kiss them through a tiny violet window in the grove -
candles flicker, blaze the orchard;

our card-hotel sign screams, "Open"

Violet screams when forced to see
these purple letters follow me
I must console my desperate friend -
(I drop her into your glass again)
now breathe....breathe  -

We will pretend our bravest selves
to visit where the Ravens flow in
Violet's Rivers, 
beside those card-hotels who stole her name -
I think she'll dream upon reprieve -
but
Will she dream a new return?

.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Intermezzo (in a bug-pub) 
a "bug-pub is a solution for those who cannot stop the Meta morphoses

"you've poured more than a solo query to the (very ugly) bug," declared 
two tense-worthy causers who live in black shoes;
heir stiletto heels in a bunch: (our profound "pretty ponds")
afloat with plasticine piles, protruding beetles
climbing, creeping through thick-fuurred sticky Night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

movements III  

"tormenting Violets"
the kafka bug
he be a bloated - bellied guy -
He rolls round toward her purple door
"I love the sound of the Word,
"Violet," he oozes,
his wirey hair askew
askew in a silent whirring wind
we cannot see

all our worlds askew at once
all our Words cyclone, torment Violets, 
pass, whistling, through each other's rounds -
May we catch them, ball their electric dream hair into sense,
heal Violet's insomnia?


magenta dustballs rise like lies 
afloating round his head as he eats exits.

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