hey beautiful people! this is the moonchild comin to ya from the south of saturn, from a hat box of my own frozen poems, omg but it's true. seeking shiny others, stoned first on the love they feel, and completed in our reefy lounge, all together, one, two, three. if a pigeon has a lasting form; if the woodsmen lay down in the acid rain, run they from the fallout; capture the sphere. if anyone has ears to hear, let them in on the word; again that word is love. goodnight, captain... lay down sally; untuck your tails (peace's!)
