I am counting things
at night numbers, dreams
hum of a hundred bells
soft harps to soothe
sweet with birds colored blue
in the tiger grass, big eyed cats
twitchy whiskers and paws
they sleep beneath tree limbs
branches wild and gnawed.

Do not wake me
while the garden is glowing
a thousand flowers in rows
I am fixed on violets
hydrangeas indigo blue
with fingers I paint thick
brick in red rose variants
on the lawn peacocks in resplendence
with monde blue-green iridescence
and a million gypsophila clouds pass by.

I sense loss and yearning all around
I used to chalk it up as a personal hurdle to jump
or just the feeling of aging while the youth still goes on
Yet I think I this malaise is widespread
Impacting all of us in our glitching global trade

I used to think the issue was there’s just too much now
Too much to watch, listen, and taste
You don’t need the hunt anymore
Don’t need to wait or pay some exorbitant price
I used to feel overstimulated by the streams
and just could not decide
I still feel, it’s not that we want to do the thing,
but we yearn to want to want to do the thing
again

Is that all that’s changed?
Those who are not ready to be creators
will certainly not be ready to be curators
Freed ourselves from DJs and TV programming
but what control have we flailed ourselves into?
Wasting hours a day watching 30 second videos
whose categories are heavily curated
impersonally, just for you
Remember when user preferences worked
and in searches they wouldn’t hide the whole list
of all that was relevant and new?

O Joy, stop saddening, sulking;
The fork teeth of cold are blunt;
The snow doesn't have identity
Of its own, and lost its current.

Jolly crickets are loving lovers,
And our hearts are now daffodils;
we are aquamarine once again;
March is here and on the hills.

off the asphalt
five miles down south
she catches prawn

her skirt the catching net
feet quietly feather weight
she looks a muddy heron

beneath sky grayish pale
swimming wind with fishy smell
on her no man's patch

intent on her solo search
head bowed down cutely arch
she must have her catch

streaks of mud on her hair
only what she does care
a bunch of wriggling store

fire it up when day is dead
have the catch thinly spread
and nothing more

I like to make lists more then I like finishing them.

More making.

more lists - makes me feel the way making and finishing a good list feels when its finally as easy to finish it as it is making it.

The only thing that feels close as good as the way finishing a lists feels is a good list finishin -            when
- you finish making it good and proper. ✓ x 100 % A+ ect,

lists.


I feel it's way easier to - make a new list
- to finish as it is. as it is to finish when the same list you where just finish

- ing  
- or
- are

making just to finish - something someone just put on The List - then it is to finish just 1 more chore - finish off the list.

feeling,  
- just as good as -
✓ finishing most of the list.

Is as good as the worst feeling things on them.

Make more : ✓
This is the goal.
Not Lists; making more lists.
✓ Making more : ✓

- It makes me feel just about the same way as when I just want to do more and more is what I
- Do
- Enjoy
-
-
-

My heart
Neither sad
about anyone, nor mad...

Yes! It's changed
No one matters
not interested in others' matters

I don't claim
It's under control
But, it doesn't trust them anymore

Not exactly
It's shrunk to few people
But not ready for new hassle

When they meet
I greet with a smile
But "no strings attached" is new style

The status is available
But steered clear
from those who aren't approachable

Have hopes and
Do have desires
But now I do not aspire

Only when it rains
The old wounds pain
But the life is peaceful again

Now, the candid orange
From the rouge lemon
and this; big sky I’m
Left out to hide under
On the fence so it looks
Like so it looks like I
Couldn’t decide. My feet lead slowly dragging
Through the pasture where
We buried to to many
Gentle memories.

Red cardinal, old world
Ferns in the small lower corner
Ears perk up & I see
A place. I fondly think
it doesn’t go anywhere...
… Passing through thicket

Brushing up against
A … ‘ah’ a ‘eh … α eigh — Edge!
‘Ai’ heigh I clamored.
Wide open vista with …‘oo’ blue hue
Sweeping ocean view. Winds come
Sail'n out of those humid chartreuse
Grasses from a pointed funnel  
Leopard bed look'n hostel or not
it is safe a good gap in the tract
I don’t feel lost, safe sign I might
as well keep schmucking
Going out of where I should be.
Scenic edge stopped aisles lie ahead
keep in my tracks followed
only the wind a safe place to be
so odd it felt like the wall of a fish bowl
looking out to the sea.