I should not be a host of captive minds
Slandered by departed times with which
One fills the distanced illusion up
On the empty cup of another
Who has tried to walk on water
Flowing as a river bank
Along the uphill battle moods.
That is how
The grail got us drunk,
The blood a holy attitude.
Flowing as a river bank
Along the uphill battle moods.
Seasonal strings from
Sex and Violins
Breathe life into sparse tunes,
They’re not needing more support,
Drunk on their beatitudes.
Muscle Poems 
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