The night allows the soft ones
to move upon
the face of the Earth...
The wet moon bathes their pure
bodies, the darkness caresses
their skin;
The darkness holds gentle, processed
packets of light, spawn forth
from the moon, mirror of the sun.
The soul of ra walks upon the
sands of Bimshire.
Youth grows for me, Immortal
Infinite Kei, and flows forever
forwards.
K31. From the archives, made HTML Wed. 28 Nov. 2001.
I also authored a short essay on druggle [ link ], my demented form of poetry (of which this is an example).
[ K! ]