the pond

life is thick
with the feast of the senses.
the pond,
bosom of life
homes the heron in our souls
safe from the hunter of the night.
amid the wisdom of the lotus buds
blooms our understanding
of all things,
like moonlight
penetrating the virgin pond;
all secrets seen clearly

I am a Fish with a Bicycle.

My poetry kills cows, but only with an acute sunset. Four score bald men take their coffee for a walk with my conveyer belt. Death pays those who interfere with my green amusement.

Are your giraffes on fire? The Utterly Surreal Test

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