Imagine if light was
Slower;
Like:
The speed(-+) of
Fog rolling along a dewy grass hill.
If you turned on a flashl
L
Light
And the light
jiggled out with a
plop like
(COndensed) chicken soup from a can? Or if
Light was like a Bright yellow cloud of poison gasthat wasnt poison( and smelled like butterscotch
Imagine turning on the hose
And spraying thick jets of
Heavy light wouldyou drink light?
i dont knownif i would id probably get around to it one day

MY LITTLE NUMERO UNO

She attacks the page
with all the fervour & ferocity

of learning to write:
! nUmBeRs!

Her pen
digs its way

through to
(the other page)        

as if it were trying to
escape its task

make a break
for it.

Finally, she draws
a 2

a gentle swan
gliding by on a single wave.

Then, an 8
(which she informs me)        

is an O
“...wearing a belt that’s too tight.”

“Right? ”
“Right! ”

6 & 9
she cuddles together.

“Shhh...they’re sleeping! ”

Then: a 3
“...which is an 8 with half the 8
...missing.”

Then: a 1
which is a man
“.. with a little nose.”

Then: a 7
Which is a man
“...with a big nose.”

10
is
“The man with the little nose
going out with an eight without its belt.”

5
is
“Like a S
frozen stiff.”

4
is
“My hand doesn’t like writing 4’s
so...it doesn’t.!

'Well, that's
enough of that! '

She glares at me
as if to say

'Don't dare
contradict me! '

'I'm going out
to play!

She proudly
announces

(a woman with her work
well done) .

And out...
...out she goes!

in spite of the failed attempts
in spite of time
never being on our side,
you are my sweetest hallelujah.

I showed you the poem
About you
And you loved it
And asked me who it was about

A bird flies past my window, I never see it again, it is beautiful.
A sunset bleeds, for minutes, but then it’s night.
Ice cools my drink, but then it’s gone, the drink stays cold, delicious.
The flavor of kisses fade in minutes, but are never forgotten.
All these things, I enjoy, but I never own, and my heart is at peace with that. I am not sad, but grateful to feel.
Thank you for helping me find that peace ephemera.
You’ll always be my dove, little lady.

-Mr. West

All souls speak fluent poetry.