biochicklet

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whale

Paris is the Springtime for her, damned cold drops here

Limitless Possibilities for him, for us Puddles of probabilities

Priests drunk with vodka instruct on Satan’s blame for travails

and rewards for the obedience of the miserable in challenge.

If only the excruciating pain could bring me to that belief, instead

of mental breakdown insanely railing at my protector?

What test of integrity, is standing by, while beached those

that lived with righteousness, are left sun bleached carcases?

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Author: biochicklet

Scientist raised by intellectuals on poetry, theater, art, history and music in New York City. Escaped to New Mexico to nature and mysticism. Knowing that the absurdities in this life are what we must laugh at.

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