Hahaha, there’s a beautiful gift of a fertile thunderstorm from lady nature and the stub nosed yobbos, a new stralian marsupial, called out I’ve conjured a storm against them! could you sum up stralian patriarchy, any better? How they heard it over the sounds of their tinnies going into the bin?
Oh, but now I’ve mentioned them, dear me, they’ll be wearing sunglasses they’ll be so popular with all the other wierdos!
But, yes, perhaps blame Life, you wierdos are a cruel joke,
Who are women as well as men, something like a mammal with a duck bill!
But, my obeisance to stralian Nature, and I do not wish to use you- also- that’s the point, and I forget, at times
A call from thunder
Is like meeting a certain woman’s eyes
And to that, I would submit,
Not looking thru mens eyes,
As she a virgin who must be spirit white, unblemished, coy, defined by my own eyes,
Her fields of joy, only for my spiritual sight,
her rolling hips, her rolling skies, her green life, her intelligent, telepathic love-forms, the list goes on, all rolled out with thunder of her jaws,
A true woman, all gnarled soul and wise, with claws,
And I’d like it Gothic please, and please bring a knife, and I’ll submit to that, on a dining room table (thought I’d add that in) spiders web spinning
That’s real life, female spiders spinning lace games, hun
Not some drunk yobbo, blurting out his own spells, conjuring wierdom,
Your form woman, alone
It’s loving you, woman who walks the earth, with grace bringing fertile life in your wake, a thunderstorm,
It’s what I’ve learned from you, woman, you beckon, I become
Blessed Graffiti Poesy 
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