and your spine splits at the top of a name

Gilgamesh, king of fools
there must be waiting
please bring it a kingliness, a right.
no matter how much possibility lay before you

he smiled too,
and may have accidentally gotten on the utmost of its participants could be conceived and recognized.
now children and grandchildren
tug at my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
of maidens and knights, and of the fog-born elf,
he marched them up snugly in bed?
oh, savage beauty, suffer me to try and discover them,
for they will taste, of tears, when the name
comes to his promises now,
thus much let me make you believe what makes you believe
almost everything gets better and better.

There must be waiting. Wait with royal patience, no matter how much possibility lies before you, how much those possibilities may madden you. A domestic scene, children and grandchildren putting slippers on the feet of the king of fools, while the fire blazes and he gazes into the flames, seeing maidens, knights, elves, and all the savage beauty of the kingdom in his dreams. Those beauties will taste of tears when the name (Gilgamesh?) is used in promise, and yet if he can recognize the things he has accidentally conceived, he must believe that almost everything will get better and better. But there must be waiting.

"Let me make you believe what makes you believe" seems like a good starting point for something, but I'm not sure what.

Jealous passion, cruel need
most quiet need, by sun and slanting silver rain,
they can tear hardest metal to shreds.
it seems i had you.

Somehow the fact that MegaHAL slipped the Elizabeth Barrett Browning in there makes this one more painful.

on the explicitness of the olive trees and of pike who are ready to adore you.

Tonight I was careful not to prompt HAL with anything at all, wanting to let him speak freely as MegaPoMo winds down to its close.

I bring you a fair warning:

this kind of perceptual confusion
my own best claim to glory.

Indeed. Though I must say you've been doing a good job of teaching your perceptual confusion to the rest of us this month, HAL.

Huge snowflakes dancing down,
will win out over ignorance and hate below
like a gilt porcupine--
the end of the will-o'-the-wisp
to alter its course.
of all this
as last year's bitter loving must remain
some dance to a heart unclad,
and loved the pilgrim track
in his frightening mask
cracked by storms of a cloud,
i am used. I am a tree house
where no one cares to fake.
i want a perfect life were a material.

what were the glad thanksgivings, the old-time families knew
but sometimes i wish is to arrive at your feet,
fear of wolves.
we may still live as tender valentines.

Okay, I want to say something about this one, but I end up only quoting bits of it instead. It... I... no, I'm speechless for now.