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We will often fight against the goads dealing in premortal slime 

It's the turning of the tide then exposed;

Through various loop holes we then get confused even feel used...

Faith is the substance of things not seen,

In neglect to what will search for a hidden need

While the entire world outside longs to see you bleed
As sadness in its beckoning call,

Faith is each personal toward their own belief

Shattered glass on its parchment door filled with sadness etched iin madness

Major Jackson & John Ashbery remarkable poetic historians amidst the timeless cloud;

A willingness to dare to explore fascination heads to the floor...

The promise in exploration during its tragic duration;

Still faith isn't intellectuallized it just is/

Words are endured through its timeless dialect filtered through the sand
Hoping someday all will understand it's delicate premise of realization
Fixed on an appease to please blatant fascination
The grass withers & the cards will fall as they may

In chosen asps filtered through its viable way
The bargain basement deal to seal its wholesome branded feel
Filtered through its beckoning call asunder is it any wonder the way our children deal?
Cheap thrills in the back of a car to cry 

Shelter lies dormant amidst the pain
Less of course I shall refrain in matters of emmense strain
In graduation the whole essential scheme ends
Within problems we get a glimpse of the appetite of friends
Shattered memory's with lines drawn in the sand
John Ashbery is the poets friend a very unusual man
In equated demise a word to the actual wise,
Poetry is heightened in the mystery essentially
The barbarians would quite often disagree in their lost pedigree
Through words expressed amidst the mesh with polished vest
In words one can look closely to its vested guess
Within a world that is many times upside down in some mess
I must confess the pillar of truth to relinquish its timeless cue
The very proud & few/

John Ashbery stood beneathe the heavy tide of the 1960's slide
In ovation in which he stood never in some dreary mood
A poets friend to strangers & even enemies
Along lines visualized in the shifting sand of vested memory
John Ashbery
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