I wrote this one for the Dehi. The # is the # of a star or galaxy or something, I think. I kept seeing this star in a very small crack in the trees, just the other side of my driveway. I fell into it, then I wanted it to stop hounding and haunting me, then I missed it when it was gone. So I did what any beatnik hippy love junky supercuck would do - I wrote a poem about it.
Lorenzo Ardea - 03-04 or 5ish, 2016
HR-3075 - A Love Poem
I have loved you for 860 years. Before that I could not afford such luxury. For to love you is to give everything over.
Our easter egg, the high score. It only looks like a bird is unsure, and then certain, as to what branch is next.
Irony is thin skinned. The truth more so. Whilst the carpenter builds a new door, the squeaky hinge gets the grease.
Light, Hope, Kindness, Round bellies full of beer and bar-b-que. Well fed babies sleeping in the air conditioned spare bedroom, All of us growing up to be best friends. The sun is our campfire. We will stop hurting each other, we’re going to be ok too.
And if you wanted to get freaky with me, that would be cool. I think that plant is as alive as you or I. If you give God a name, I’m going to name that plant Raoul.