an acrostic

Roar, mighty ones, roar. Induce ourselves awake and Never  Go back to Sleep. 

It’s the same. “Didn’t mean it, didn’t think”. It takes two tango but Only one To tangle.

Some people would call it a lemon. Until magnificent rays Bouncing off bubbles in babbling brooks Leaping beyond the flesh and into the Imagination, the heart and the soul Mean more to you than just a glare Everything everywhere ever will be dull.

What else is there to say? I'll tell you. Oppressive heat masquerading in Reality as a Darker force, as something sinister, as... Silence. It creeps up, creeps in. Weaves its ways across time, Over our lives and Rests in our wonderful and wild Dreams. Spinning its way into the deep, deep Wells of yesterday and sorrow. Omniscient lover of awkward moments only Relieved by pins Dropping. Silence is the rest.

What time is it? A quarter past. Is it morning or night? Too hard to say. Is it important? Nothing is. Going somewhere? Afterwards, probably. Tomorrow, or the next day? After this. Probably. Before this, where were you? Umming and aahing. Since you got here? Something else, probably. Too hard to say, still? Oh not really. Probably?

Forget about what has happened, Remember what could have been. Imagine another time, Dream about another day. Amidst the grey the weekend calls. Years drag by But somehow weekends fly. Every Friday's on my mind, Forgetting Monday morning Or Wednesday afternoon. Resplendent days, magnificent afternoons Every day should be before The weekend. How, we must ask, can such a time be so... so Excellent? We should, however, ask why our Ends of the week are Even slightly better than the beginnings. Keep it real Fridays, we love you, Even if you lead us straight into Mondays and Never spend anytime with us. You are the Day that gives us the weekend.

Simple pleasures. Magnificent rivers that glisten Orange in the morning fog. Killer looks and real smart Intellect. A perfect combination of everyday Nothingness and tomorrow's everything all at once. Grand designs beautiful in minute detail. Art and music, food and booze. And it Calls your name like It knows you. Glowing red, burning Amber. Remember the first one? Evening blue circling from it. Time is not our friend and Treachery lies just around the corner. The Ember turns to ash.

It was a queer and sultry night in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. He was an old man who fished alone in the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay. The next morning the sun shone, having no alternative. It was the day my grandmother exploded (a screaming comes across the sky). I will tell you in a few words who I am: lover of the hummingbird that darts to the flower beyond the rotted sill where my feet are propped. I, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus This-that-and-the-other (for I shall not trouble you yet with all my titles), I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

Luminous, luminous. Look, All lit up and bright tonight. Freedom rings Out loud and proud. Luminous, luminous look It's brights and loud and Eveything's better. Magnificent madness, Atop a mountain with arms spread Grinning, grinning, grinning. Navigating through the stars: In-between and under and over and Forever. Imagine the very beginning. Quick, jump! Jump Up jump up jump up. Even if you never come down.

Somedays I would like to know. 

Oh, it is gone. Goodbye.

Whisper it back to me Repeat it (again and again) Imagine it going on forever Tell it to the children Eat it for lunch, breakfast and tea (It is Transient) Only it can disappear at Night and reappear Another place Without a blurb, Alone. No Lovers. It won't Leave but it won't be there tomorrow.

Simple pleasures Bob. Magnificent rivers that glisten Orange in the morning fog. Killer looks and real smart Intellect. A perfect combination of everyday Nothingness and tomorrow's everything all at once. Grand designs beautiful in minute detail Art and music, food and booze. Calling your name like It knows you. It does. Well it doesn't but it can Guess because you taught it All that it knows. How the wait after a Restaurant meal can agonise and how Every coffee seems To lack just something... Well everything. Tomorrow will be better if I give up now. Unfortunately Eternity always feels like its today.

  apologies to Coleridge