the dreamed red sun of the morning—
thus I get tender letters.
On wings of the morning glow—
I fly into lands of butterfly-like hearts.
In my vans—the poesy is indeed fulfilled.
I am looking at starry starlit moonlit night—
each starlets enchanting me on ways into ontology.
The silvery fantasy—heralds my ways to the dreamiest moon.
I am seeking the brightest star—the philosophical
as well as druidically poetical.
I will become blissful and Apollonian.
A meek elf showing me the moon
full of comet dust—the ambrosia
for dreaming souls.
Long live my auntie—the sibyl
with propitiously weird