You have slaughtered my kind without
justification and planted red mums
to line the new concrete sidewalk
to your church; Sundays,
as you traipse our roots
we will listen to your
sanctimonious
secrets.

I don't want to write poetry.
I want to rip apart my brain
and feed it to my thoughts of decay.
I do not want to think of you,
because it is evidently clear
that you cannot be a constant,
So I shall extract you
(and all the thoughts, words,
and phrases too)
from my mind.
You may not enter this home,
I locked you out long ago.
Your little petty games
did you no favours,
tied tight to immaturity,
it looked too much like
not committed,
so I sent it all away from me.
In this case, not knowing no grey
is an advantage,
I would rather not choose to
sedate my appetite with your
little crumbs of "love"
(good morning, how are you?
every birthday).
It may take years but I won't forget
that I am not in the business
of decomposing yet.

red blue
and
green
water lilies
unfold
and
move the
wind parade
through
our
temple souls

Write it down
Sing it aloud
Draw it now
Because you feel it

hey, look! look, up in the sky!
stars are falling! falling stars!
make a wish, make a wish!
i wish he'll love me back

then a falling star came near
and i saw that it isn't a star
it's you falling for me.