My witch hazel bush
in its winter
apples and oranges
wafting in tandem,
the chickadees chanting
and hovering near
the hummingbird trays.
It's an elegant time of year
to hold fast to simplicity,
seeing my pansies
break buds easily
in frosty inspiration.
Among the chickadees
playing, dark-eyed sparrows
sing sweetly in flirtation.
Got a strawberry patch with poems in it
young flax, lettuce and corn
worms subterranean with robin eye grit
planter saucer bird bath on tree stump born
yellow iris amongst antonym greens
white sun's beams internally greet
Poppies, cardinal red, bob and stream
on this breezy morning wing
as Black-capped Chickadees spring
do not go there are trees and how many who knows the world is round in Spring and fat in Spring is the far wonder of somewhere the chickadees of smooth sweltering dolls with their dulleyed limp mouths and they don't say a "fucking word"
This skin is alive,
but I wish it were rotting
beneath the soil,
roots forming between
my rib cage,
rain draining the blood
from my veins,
birds stealing hair for
their chickadees pillows,
insects burrowing behind
This life has no meaning so I give my life to those who could use it.
So came the days,
long of summer's winging
sweet the cherry chickadees sang
Grasping leafy ribbons hung,
willowy warm the trees we swung
All the green - the frog soliloquy pond
Fritillaria, frilly forest fronds
grassy mountain meadow paths,
daisy clouds bloomed, swirling past
Wild geese flocked the lake,
dusk too soon alas
August night of seasons end
starry meteors flashed across
velvet black whistling to
a blue moon
Alchohol warms my throat.
Im a night owl,
stalking my next prey.
When I was the captured one;
My little mouse caressed my heart in a new fashion.
My lust was no longer instinct,
We danced like Chickadees in the sheets,
When I woke,
She was gone.
What if a unicorn had two horns
or maybe She'd choose removal.
What if zombies turn into vampires
When maybe nobody is looking.
What if owls had three sets of eyes
or people had double jointed necks.
What if peter pan is really spiderman
and no one ever discovers his identity.
What if blue birds sing in winter
or what if chickadees sing in spring.
What if the seasons were tangled
or what if you did not really care.
What if I never ever made mistakes
and the world was mine to reshape.
All ye who enter into my world, ye
should still expect certain chaos.