I’d love to write something clever and witty
To capture the essence of Dr Suess in a ditty
But try as I might, the words don’t take flight
And the whole thing just sounds kind of ******

I walk by a garden that’s not mine.
Not everyday, but less than I’d want.
It has a flower blossoming right by the gate.

It’s petals are green.  They sparkle with dew.
Bright and glowing at all times of the night and day.

It’s face is fire. Crackling and warm, a beacon to lost souls and small animals. Warming pieces of people that were unknowingly frozen.

It’s stem is lithe. Twisting, gently curving its way up to the sun. Strong enough to hold its head up and not bow to the wind.

It’s roots, enigma. I do not know how deep they go. But I’d be willing to try find find a *** big enough to hold them all stretched out.

I’d wish to have such perfection in my garden.
I’ve tried placing beauty in it, to no avail.
I once even planted a pretty **** with thorns and spikes. It didn’t last either.
Perhaps my land is salted.

There’s a place we should not go
Where white snow falls and foxes dive in, head first.
The trains that go there do not stop.
Their brakes are cracked useless things.
Their fuel is limitless. The lever is set to full speed.
It’s not an easy train to disembark from.
Not for want or for not wanting.
I’m of the latter currently. Though I knew boarding this train would send me there. I got on anyways.
Now I’ll just enjoy the ride. Have a little ski, perhaps even become a fox.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Sickeningly empty. Surrounded by silence
Its unerring and it aches. A single fruit on a monstrous tree
A car without gears a pilot without a stick
Biologically nonsensical, emotionally dead
And I slept

It’s a fickle thing that moves us to this
A miss said word here and a cut there
It’s barbs and fangs and sharp things that stab
It’s an unpleasant time for all.
A crucible to temper the soul and harden the heart
When it’s done is it impenetrable?
Is there an alloy that does not become brittle in its strength.
Too many times in the fire and everything breaks
Too much fire and we all are changed
I cannot be soft. It doesn’t suit me