flourish fountain of youth
the future is yours
make waves with harmony
throw your pebbles
-into the centre of the pond.

On the backs of
flies
we wait for the
next thing.
Something is
always coming.
A birth or death,
food or hunger
hatred
laughter
love...

Something is always
coming around the
corner.
The Mad Hatter with
mushroom tea.
A strange color of
blue that tastes like
almonds.
A ****** that sparkles
in the night.

Listless mornings
of languid
walks with the
wife in the cool
of the evening.

A knife in the back,
a shark attack,
or maybe, just
possibly, you write
a poem about
waiting for the
next thing.

We could be lonely
Together
Sequestering
Close open wounds
Interminably festering
Leave the world lost
To its doomsday devices
No more counting costs
And considering prices
This rife with
The absence
Of wholeness
Won’t hurt us
Alluring
Distractions
Won’t fully  
Divert us  
Won’t turn us from
Shared
And more personal gains
Won’t be sunny skies
Every day
Chances it rains
On occasion
But we
Would just lay still
And listen
And lazily wake
To the morning dew glisten