By Jim Heil

Poetry is a drug
drink to think
fast lane
grant my descension
grace me with words

Let no man stand in the way
of my self-destruction.

The high
poetry is the stripper
that ignites and excites
word blessings
in tempest subconconsious

Let no woman rise me from Abaddon.
(Hell with a pen and paper is a poet’s

doors of perception
unlocked and open
see what’s inside
deride the day
pass away
in words

You’ll be the death of me yet
– hope for insanity
– longing for vagrancy
– complacent instability

Poetry is the church
making all things equal
bring me words
in cloaks of derision
bad day – good day
strength from weaknesses

“She had never experienced pain
until she gave birth; nor the joy
of the subsequent life.”

Bring forth my children.
I can not live in the secular world.