I avoid you so superbly,
My thoughts fly by before I get a chance to try,
And write them down,
Scribble notes on back of receipts,
With four dollars left for a bottle of pop,
The air conditioner turns on,
And my soul jumps,
Maybe flys,
So far out,
I lost it,
I don't know what I love,
I thought it was you,
Sweet sweet words,
That were my own,
Created a Cacoon,
But now I run,
I don't stop to pace,
Back and forth,
Hello Poetry.

The prince is dead
the castle has crumbled
he failed the quest as soon as he stumbled
off a high wall
and down to the ground
upon which he perished with hardly a sound.
The princess is doomed
now trapped in a tower
where she watches the world blacken hour by hour
the sun went away
and the grass shriveled up
the demons now revel in the ash and the muck.
Oh the kingdom is ruined
and the people all wail
but heroes all die in true fairy-tales.

Lifeless as she lay
Her skin so pale
The gleam in her eyes
Had begun to fade
She lay still
Unable to move
The pain was torturous
tearing her apart
Like a thousand needles
Pricking her heart
She was left alone yet again
Blaming herself for all the pain
The agony was deeper
The affliction more severe
Everything that held her strong
Was now falling apart
Breathing her last
With the last blow
Closed her eyes
She was ready to go....

The seven deadly sins of man
have just slaughtered a
mocking bird.

The sound of willow drums
                     & laughter at 1 a.m.

The Lion's sin of Pride
                   "Hail the poet within you."
The Dragon's sin of Wrath
                   "Your words forge death on the page."
The Snake's sin of Envy
                   "The clock counts more words than time does."
The Fox's sin of Greed
                   * "Crave the words as if they disgusted God."
The *Grizzly's sin of Sloth
                     *"Immortality flocks to your pen and paper."
The *Goat's sin of Lust
                     "Dress like a daydream or a nightmare to write with blood."
The Boar's sin of Gluttony
                      "Don't be afraid to **** to suffice your poems."

Oh poets,
for those of you who've figured
it's also a sin
to ****
a
mocking bird.

The secret is in the eighth deadly sin of poetry,
                                  Don't.
              ­                    Tell.
                                   Poets.
                                    What.
                ­                    To.
                                    ­Do.
.

Daisies, tulips, petunias,
orchids, and roses.

The flowers all speak to me.

I perk up my ears
to better hear them
when they whisper
in hushed undertones:

"she loves you not."