No. We are Placers.
We are Judges.
We have a place in ordering God's design
When in heaven,
But shall not be an object of Worship.
Only God is.

The city bus arrives,
I see the children need coats.
The stop has a shop
Which has five.
He will only give me one
If I work for him,
And in return
His mannequin, she says, "Shut up, don't complain,
"Don't talk, never speak another word, and 
"For ten cents a day
"That shall be your reward."

At the time I thought it pretty fair
As I pled with the lifeless doll,
For to have my work, and give the orphans coats
I must give my very all.
My voice, my honor, my every hour,
Then I woke up, and saw the vision was glower.

I am enraged too.
But not enough to destroy liberty.
Not enough to do away with the American Dream.

Let it be for all people, rather than for none.
Is all I'm saying.

There is a world beneath us
That the farmer would be proved
A filthy rotten liar, 
For all men would have food.
By whose trowel would it come
It would come from that AI
And art and work and all activity
Would be done by artificial eyes.

The little lamb was grazing
The Fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his lean body
For it was very fair.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox knew it well,
He wished to go to Valhalla
To that underworld's hell.

The men had waged their wars
The Irish rebels lost,
The unpatriotic poet
Had marvelled at the cost.
For now men were so idle
To dote upon their jewels,
Any form of eve they'd spy
They could boon in her womb too.

The little lamb was grazing
The fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his lean body
For it was very fair.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox, he knew it well,
He wished all to go to Valhalla
That strange world the lamb called hell.

"The Root and Birch Beer flowing
"Amble through the sugary ways,
"There are no rules, here, showing
"What thing I ought but can't say.
"For you have your nude liberties
"But none to write this poem;
"For all are there so silent,
"And can only touch a flower with foam."

The little lamb was grazing
The fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his wooled body,
For it was very bare.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox, he knew it well,
He gave the Lamb his visions
Or did he? No, God did, well.

Gabriel's trumpet blasted,
Michael and David's too;
The men in their vessels
Did fly to worlds new.
Thus was all speech ended
And men only talked with moans,
At last the foaming flowers
Were forbid by hearts of stone.

What is fiction is for the moral soul
To show them in stark nakedness, like a
Runway model, in her sumptuous form
With exposed breasts, and a sack of wheat
Her naked body is there, sumptuous---
For in the real world, such things entice
But in the literary world, they teach.
For the sex between two conjugal mates
Is more beauteous than the lust of two
In heated throws of whoredom's pink passions.
Yet it is in the mind's eye they make love
So flower does not meet flower, fluid
Does not mix with fluid, nor seed with womb;
And what's never seen cannot be exposed.
For the mind creates only from matter
It has understood, and without which, no
Thought can be lucid, or knowledge there known.
For what is wrong can be called wrong, but right
Called right, as heroes and villains fight wars
And the limb crushed cannot be known, 'tis hard
To imagine what eye hath never seen.
Thus, the book can do no harm, but rather 
Elucidates the crux of moral wisdom.
For it can do no harm, but teaches when
A man is wrong, or when a man is right
Such is a story's use, and only that.

Romance is a mandrake.---
Poisonous roots, bitter
If swallowed.

Yet, when the white lily
Blooms in courtship
The fruit arrives...

It is most beautiful,
And only that timely
Fruit can you eat

And at no other time
But in that short week
In the month of May

Lest you eat a poisoned apple.

No other time spent, would be spent
Best, than searching for my Great God.
For to know that no act of mine
Could save me,---an idle life's naught
But the one that did its business
And did not peer for the answers.
Though poor, and helpless, and lonely
In life at this present hour,
I have searched through all things and found.
What I have found is respite and
Grace, and love. And though religion
Be a means to obtain such things
I know where I have failed, and thus
No Karmic Power holds life bare...
It may be what makes men stumble
But it is, if you think, most fair.

I saw a beautiful virgin of Israel defiled before their enemies. Whom she was spat on, and broken, and she was there naked before my eyes. I asked the LORD, “For what cause does Israel suffer so much!” And He replied, “Because they have not hearkened unto me, and have added and taken away. They have altered My Law, and therefore I am furious with them," saith the LORD. "For I had told them, not to swear by Baal, yet the very priests themselves, take an iron stylus, and scribe their error into my Law. What shall I do unto them, O Israel? Counsel me! What shall I do for a nation that has backslidden, and has perpetuated every disease? For their error is grievous, and their shame exposed.”

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall,
Water, Air, Fire, Earth,
The fox goes through his hunt
He catches the sparrow.
The man, with his foxhound,
Shoots the fox.
The politician, with his mogul
Sways men to kill him.
The men, ashamed at what they have done
Kill the politician.
Or do they?
No... they do what they will,
And their leader is merely their continuance. 
What the people will, they make.
What the people despise, they kill.
Like the fox on his hunt.
Like the man and his dog.
Like the politician and his mogul.

For twelve years now, every February
I had seen the Weeping Willows call forth
A yellow-green flower; ever wary
I had thought the philosophy there worth
Entertaining of our elite comrades 
Whom in their ivory towers say the sky
"It shalt fall to the earth," so I then raise
The alarm, seeing also red buds spry
Upon the maple's branches, thinking they
Do us fairly to warn of something so.
Yet, now I have therefore, seen, and behold
That it might just be February's fay.
Thus, for twelve years now in a wholesome row
I have seen red buds on the maples, and yellow on the willows.