I sat peradventure to reason
and lost myself thereupon
in the silverlinings shining
breezy squeaking squelching woe
and sequestered otherwise mobilethings to sit
and think, perchance
on love.

it was crisplyscented air raiding
(to an inexpectant
reminiscent nostril)
like infernal furnacefire;
and gone goldengreen grass to
plague a purgatorial-placid,

self-

righteous sonofabitch, mouthfoaming
fathoming pestilence and dreams;
imagination
and
ratiocination
are but oneinthesame,

and love
smiles-
openly,
to those who'd rather just                 think