The man in the elevator farted,
The smell was like a rotten salmon fish,
He mocked everyone as the gas parted,
Since provoking our anger was his wish.
Alas, he stained his white pants with his mess,
He couldn't leave the smelly elevator,
Yet he needed a toilet to access,
He begged a shirt from a nearby waiter.
He refused because of his bad manners,
A woman gave him four menstrual pads,
That he used as a protective banner—
Like young children, he turned it to a fad.
Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Had we not known, he would have claimed Scottish,
Still the skirt was stained with a little squirt,
We wish his foul manners he'll abolish.
I don't know who is she
Where she come from
Or what she does for a living
But how beautiful she is
When i look at her and
I know nothing else
But the mere evidence
Ti Bon Ange (Small Little Angel)
A small little angel looking over an edge,
Its eyes wide, alive in wetness and peering.
From a cliff it overlooks an undulating plain that,
sweeps, spreading before its eyes forever seeming,
looming, fiercely wild, provocative, even strange.
This small little angle spies a moving form,
the forms grace of movement engages the angel’s core.
The angel’s vision pierces the far distance off,
the forms mobility morphs, blinking into shifting profiles;
in yearning and desire the angel aspires to be thus.
Every nail craves a hammers striking blow,
as every fire finds its life from flaming spark.
Soul on the look out, intently watchful,
with experience dreams fluidly flow forward,
in kind, knowledge accrues like sand on a beach.
The small little angel directs its tenacious approach,
associated heartfelt action declares its course.
Sentiment slinks back in diminishing outline,
an hallucinogen of auric glow alights, proclaiming freely;
mind, body, spirit, in bold consumption.
With the way you smile behind those eyes, Ange!
There’s something that I can see,
An eternal candle that glows with a legendary flare,
A flare that makes me to adore you,
And forever, I will recollect you, Ange!
Your smile makes me proud to have you as my dear acquaintance, Ange!
Now! Come closer, friend,
And be submissive, because I need your power,
The power of amity is worn as destiny.
Not only is your smile the voyage to my castle,
But all features of you Ange! Enshrine a good friend in my castle.
Behind those eyes, there’s always a lot I can transcribe and articulate,
But, this is just another log-line of #Bryan to #Ange.
All Rights Reserved
T.m.Tscripts
le ciel est proche
quand je sens
ta main
dans la mienne
et
j`ai envie
de voler
avec toi
la seule
au dessus de la mer
comme
un Dieu
vole l`amour
Morning sun thumbs the thicker heart strings
With a shudder bass of pleasure
Adding rhythm to tenor falsetto wren songs
In suddenly lit shadowed crevasses
Still enjoying the quietnesses of sleep
A hawk screams in delight of rising air
We sip our fresh ground percolations
naked in the hot still water
Watching humming birds taste and guard feeders
Suddenly we're spell bound
She's all white, an angel
Her wings a halo of flourescence.
We are now awake.
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