in surrealisms  or reality
whether drunk ****** sober tripping out
grounded or high
addicted we all are

well, poetry begins by suspending reason,

unnaming and renaming everything ,

taking apart the small parts and making one big metaphor.

calling a flower your lover,

or pain as a roses thorn,

a smile as the sun,

a frown as a crescent moon,

and of course stars ,

they have to be included,

as sparkling,

butterflies are forbidden in modern poems,

as are roses, to which I alluded,

my bad , though,

I see poetry as anything

you feel deep enough to

try to write a poem about

and makes you feel

round plentiful satisfyingly rotund
Peggy was almost two at once
she didn't intend that
just happened
a hormone thing
she was pleasing and still a world of big beautiful
and happy acting
she had hair like Rapunzel flowing like a golden river
down her back mountainside
to her log like legs
and when she hugged you
it was like a polar bear
so warm
she had spares
spare love to give , was grateful
innocent
as a dove
experienced as a *****
made me almost fall deep into love
I am glad
I wore a parachute

Never could she keep up with the days goings on
And waiting for tomorrow takes far to long
As she tries to be happy with the moment of here
Though she's much more comfortable as Yesterday's Girl

Lays the day out on the table hoping the setting looks right
Slicing the hours like a piece of peach pie
There is always tomorrow in a perfect world
But you take your chances being Yesterday's Girl

There seems to be lacking when the day rolls around
Without even asking, raising questions of doubt
Tomorrow may know but tomorrow won't tell
Life can be a bit confusing when you're Yesterday's girl

A muse,
The artists creation,
Created from inspiration,
Crafted with utmost perfection.
Perfection because art is flawless,
Flows smoothly like sand in an hour glass.