Trellis twines and weeds unthrift, fruit hangs heavy, boughs low
I sense the power in those moves
Are you by the gate?

Full of dust and dried hands, whole day on the feet, shaking so
Sharp twinges in the back of calves
Are you by the gate?

Graying sulk, brand new phase seeks you every day, chagrined
My nerves full of you, futile dream
Never thought conjured.

A moth's carrying your face on mosaic metal wings, half of mine inside
drummer boy, she's in a long, black dress
drummer boy, don't drink the brack water
I didn't look up this time, so I guess I never saw it

The hot air balloon transporting a house with a bird in a cage inside
Tall plant growing through the sky, into space
The sun as its face of flower, petals falling and an insect mouth
There's horns on every building where people store their god and the stars discontent with simmering fires, coming closer to the forests
and goddess flies over towers and ugly stock remains undoused.

You cannot swim through the sea of letters in my head
I sent you only two, anyway and I don't know what now
Hearts grow skew and the plant twists, one root to your door
Right into the foyer where your wheels stand, now capped with cold
This river in me is colored by the cracks in your last sentence.

And as you're well aware, some deer skitter toward water's edge
to counter a thirst of madness, peaking to a frightening fall
I'd do well to break this branch, bugs in the mouth again and
some peepholes don't ever speak but see.

Sweet oil heats, burns and spills over
skin sublime, so sensitive
who'd have thought a spaniard could fly off
a round of expletives on parents

Don't try to figger what ain't fit for fools
go fetch your yella bucket and                 (we told you so)
that box is waiting for you and (tap, tap)
sooner 'n you think, they need your hide again.

Being on the end of your spine, roll on over here
cartilage swings better than spume
that ugly red mother (don't be sore)
ssssettling sediment: the ocean beats slats, always cleans up
you never asked
zero, one, one, one, zero, one one
done!

Isn't it just wonderful people love so deeply that a platform as powerful as hellopoetry ends up so inundated with woes of the self, self, self?

Are we truly aware of the horrors we are struck with every day, that kids get shot by the weapon wielder, that free speech gets rammed away?

Opinions of everyone should count and respected not traded as commodity and when opposed, why are all so quick on the high horse?

This platform gets wasted, let's balance the broken hearts, lovestruck, petty squabbles filling pages: simultaneously, diggers make brisk trade.

The world has taken thorough leave of its senses and in its wake, we're left to **** on leftover thoughts of philosophers and thinkers of long ago.

Originality is dead and inciting conflict is the new intellectual game.
Old hand at wars, we are.
Old hat, turn a blind eye.

Little big boy, throw your plastic gun away.
Little big girl, shut down that ******* and duck smile.
Little child, open up and read.
Write the wrongs and make it right.

It's the right of anyone to write, and shooting cameras don't lie.
But but somewhere, the balance is out.
Blind eye, blind eye, the lens takes in and spits out
Blind.

Ever had a blow planted unfairly?
You come in here with your svelte figure, taunting sleep from my eyes
I'm already so tired and everyone demands their ****
And you topped it off with retorts of wounded pride.

Now I'm granting you more of my time than I'm able to spare
Yet with gladness, I tip you patience into your cup
(because I like you, sweet Shining One)
Friendship from me means your life is safe in my hands.

I have no inclination for frivolity and even less for inanity
You found me catching respite and I broke it to serve you
When things don't fall in place, don't swing gazelle eyes like that
And postpone matters to fit in where they don't, talk now.

Ice-cream scoops are sweet, cold and messy, and sometimes they melt
I can see you're feeling hurt, but shove that ego into your back pocket!

On the very last day after too many activities after the other
I'd no idea how ruthless words could be
my sweet talker
beautiful bird out the window

Not asking, but telling
so, so telling
my sweet talker, no sweet talker.

it's so heavy, why's it so heavy?
it's the vegetable I ate or maybe too much.
strings drawn tight and a strong drawing
cleanse the inside and outside.

it feels heavy, a break to prevail
shrews in fields and thunderclouds
a different darkness falls on countenance
the railway shrieks, the train has come.