Freedom is
a fly caught by the fish
that sits
on the tongue,
to ponder thoughts
to dark for digestion.

Repulsed,
as the silvery mouth opens up
and in that single moment
i think
the fly is
lost.

A hundred eyes
unveil the cloudy parched sky
that reflects off the surface

and reveals only the illusion of space
trapped in a ripple
like the image of a face
looking down upon the wavering nights
thinking about the freedom
found in the mouth
of a fish.

Upon the dry afternoons,
the heavens tremble violently,
thick with a fathers fear,
that condenses into anger.
The sky must some day fall,
and i think it knows that.
The sun blisters its back,
and the mountains splinter its side,
but still it lurches forth,
the chained gardner to earth,
content to look down and see,
his lover still shares his suffering.

Among the muddied morn'
Gaia quivers indefinitely,
full with a mothers worry,
that solidifies into pain.
The ground must someday slip,
and i think it knows that.
Time has curved her posture,
and weather shows her age,
but still creaking forth,
the spinning ballerina's curse,
and the infidelity of the truth.

a dupe wasp
settles on an orchid,
singing sweet somethings,
melodies that shiver the stem--
tremor, knees.

i'm sure she feels the samethings.
curling toes, and antennae
afterwards, the plumes of her pollen smoke
and a giggle,
beat faster wings!

it is good to find pleasure in the little things.

Beware concrete deers
for they are not as fearful
as their wild cousins,
unmoving to your high beams,
unforgiving to dads new car.

Christine says she's proud
eyes wet like clouded burnt suns
she says i'm a man
now, who can love all freely--
i hope i dont let her down.

In monasteries,
clay men seek the potters hands,
slight imperfections,
were their claim to injustice--
the worst kind of puzzle players.

She sifts through
my words
like a miner
panning for gold,
only finding dirt.