“Army of one/jc2 ……………is a peaceful Revolution/Movement
through our art and creative process,
we will not stop Pasting /stickering all over this country
until every one of our Brave men and women soldiers are home safe
from this BARBARIC INDUSTRY CALLED WAR!!!!………..
and every innocent child is safe from this War for OIL
and our politicians bloodthirsty need for world domination!!!!
Saving one child at a time…Have you seen this child?”
we twirled and we danced
she led, I followed as best I could
as memories burst forth
in the days that turned into mirrors
when life was full of innocence
of daisy chains & training bras
hopscotch & hula hoops
can we ever recall the steps
that have been
erased by worn out saddle shoes
can we embrace
how nothing mattered
was a passion play
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rapturous shutter bug
whisk me out of the maddening sewage
of my broken promised dream
the one with the dark horse who
rode me into the ground at full force
and galloped off with my heart as bounty.
let me sing in your rhymes and tumble
into the melancholy laughter to and fro
with risk and folly, throwing caution to
the naked sea lions, let the waves of lust
fill our loins with a chorus of trumpeting
angels, beating our breasts with passions purpose.
we will sail on the winds whisper and braid
natures ecstasy through the bond that
ties our lovers knot. I long for the seconds
when our connection explodes like an electrical
storm ransacking a field of pansies and poppies
ready to be picked and woven into spring.
the light around your aura travels across the pond
wanting to drown me with pleasure and nourish
my hunger like a mother’s breast upon a cherub’s
lips. I cease to breathe at the thought of you
dying before me, for I would risk my own life
and follow you across eternity for one last kiss.
he who makes me laugh shall have
my last laugh.
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“Isn’t that the problem? That women have been swindled for centuries into substituting adornment for love, fashion (as it were) for passion? All the cosmetics names seemed obscenely obvious to me in their promises of sexual bliss. They were all firming or uplifting or invigorating. They made you tingle. Or glow. Or feel young. They were prepared with hormones or placentas or royal jelly. All the juice and joy missing in the lives of these women were to be supplied by the contents of jars and bottles. No wonder they would spend twenty dollars for an ounce of face makeup or thirty for a half-ounce of hormone cream. What price bliss? What price sexual ecstasy?”