It's raining on me

 A sparkling, spangling

Of self dusted pain

I've stayed in the tragedy

While the comedy has gained

A comedian in rain

She tells her jokes

In little spurts

One liners that

Come out like

Cruise missiles

Sent to destroy

All the boys and all their toys

Floating

Of in the world of grey

I wish she could be

Commander of my heart

Battleship destruction

On a course for Pluto

And all those rallied rapido nuns

Who search in their pockets 

For guns

At border crossings

Because each crossing is a crucifix

On which we get hung

Out, or straightened out

Like a lead roof tile

Beaten until all doubt

Leaves us blind to the facts of life

And we realize it was she

Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Lady of the Black Hole herself

Who pointed south when she met wealth

and they doubled over, begged, and genuflected

To be in her grace so well reflected

Yet nothing can suffer their reprieve

Ready to fly?

 Falling in

And Falling out

Here's the thing,

I'm feeling stout

Ready to Win

At the Roundabout

Of love and War

Or there abouts

Whereabouts?

Here he shouts

There are the louts

And the lay abouts

Don't care about

Or delay in doubt

Of expectation to fly

Or boredom with boarding

Black rose

 I called her morning

For she was bright

As daylight

She held me in her boughs

Like a tree somehow

Caught in the day

Like a noon thorn bush

That grows to the afternoon

How should I love

Such a black Rose

As thee?

The baby is rocked

In the cradle lay

So sweetly

So sweetly

Passed the lullaby day

And sweetly smells the arbour

Wherein her love grows

Oh but what of love's labour

Over such a black rose

floods

 floods of tears and floods of joy

Floods of beer that can destroy

And tear a life like a cuddly toy

Oh floods run clear that do employ

worker bees and Queens deploy

The floods of wings in fixing things

And all faces of the crowd sing

The projector

 The projector comes down to earth and shows people slides

Arnold Schwarzenegger has to fight him

Corked

 The dogs are walked

The lamp lights shine

The telegraphs talked

Over the country line

And I am corked

Like a bottle of wine

Spang-dangled

 Boiling in

And out

First the trivial pursuit

Of doubt

Then the carver's knife

Bullet bitten

For a bulletin

Shooting down

Crossing out

And brown belt

They kicked ass

In the dining room

Breakfast cart

Fugue spoke

Spang-dangled

For the banner

Of the band-bangled

Forcep, intercept

Interlude on the tube

The precept of gratitude

A rain cloud

Fell from heaven above

All singing this song

Of the wrong kind of love