But he never learned how to read a book
Or even the right words to steadily consume
Never expect anyone to be your savior
For intelligence, you gotta make the room
II. But He Never Learned How To Read A Book
space
An Innocent Looking Soul
An innocent looking soul
Draped with an ethereal gown
Confident strides across the patio
With Eve’s revenge
Crisp air – like the first bite of a green apple
Obscured; knowing her nectar to be my cure
I watch her bosom swell
It’s not objectivization
For I worship her
Refreshed in waves
This transparent Victorian hypocrisy
Knowing all that ails
& an unseen wound
Yet morning crests
Pale orange sky forces it’s way through space
In the arms of naked trees
I’m celebrating femininity
Spring’s arrival in a sundress
As she teases me with breathless recitals
Our love not by design
But still goes well with NorCal wine
Ray Bradbury
“I have never listened to anyone who criticized my taste in space travel, sideshows or gorillas. When this occurs, I pack up my dinosaurs and leave the room.”
― Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing
