When I was
younger,
I had to learn.
Sit and wait to
write.
I  would get
impatient and force it.
If you read it,
you could tell.

Now I’m quite a bit older, and
I quit trying.
Fodder seems to be
everywhere.
I can write about
the most mundane
things.

Today I’m at the
library waiting for my
girlfriend to
finish up at the dentist.
She’s getting her
teeth cleaned.
All my drinking ruined
my teeth.
When I got them
pulled a year ago,
there wasn’t a
healthy tooth in my head.
I have dentures now, so
I don’t have to
worry about how much I drink.
I know this isn’t a
good poem, but
hey,
there she is
all shiny and bright…
and sober.

I had lost myself in heaven
that I had started to unravel
where I was once from
it was peaking dull— super unfun
it’s too stunning in here
to believe any of it is ever real
So I’m by the lava
walking a flimsy plank
waiting for the halt
when it all starts to fall
then I’m in to think
that it’s really worth it all
for all the fun i’ve rolled

oh, so back when I was young,
but not so wild and free but
now i’d twirl finally—
I’m so wild and free
when I’m not supposed to be
Oh, what lava dipped rods
The world had built on odds
They’d grit upon their walls
Then roll them onto salt

When stars would demise
I had to once too—
It was all full of lies
and very little truths
Then I got hoisted on stars
Then you’d tune your voice
To the world, that I was once
a mere student of yours.
But after, and whatnot
all i ever was to you
was just bitter noise

these are— were, things and a few bits
I’d never thought I’d reminisce
about before.
Not even when I ran foot
through the very first door.
But that’s how I dream
and live— blues seem
to stealth upon every bit—
of my widowed soul
it always guards me.
except when I happen to stick to sad
I never feel sad at all—how odd these all are.

Act I
Enter two navies inspecting a robbery scene, Norman staring at a table on a stage full of empty shuffled tea cups and scattered roses.

Norman: well wouldn’t you see! isn’t this the most balanced tea!

Enter Dover eyeing the table and Norman with sharp inspection.

Dover: what the shambles you mean? (picking a rose up)

Norman:oh the shambles! where’s the gleaming fire within the clear clouds!

Dover:what even caused such a commotion?

Norman: oh what’s the withered moon without the staggering sun! the founded prism underneath the leaves when they hum
the lookers- instead of the rounds could have taken onboard routes!

Dover stands unsure as Norman roams around like he’s on shore.

Dover: what’s buzzing in that wits of yours?

Norman halts all of a sudden picking up the pieces of a broken glass, roses, and stems.

Norman: fine time how it had tethered! if the tea cups hadn’t fallen under ink of roses on their surface! then who’d rip the poor roses out their wombs!

Dover listening to Norman, picks up the labeled teabag’s paper inspecting.

Awfully surprised Dover reads.

Dover: Sugarlime Tea? how’d that not succumbed from thrills of morbid totes! my heavened lord!

Norman halts amidst his tumble around the lowered velvet curtains.

Norman: oh that must’ve been treading on dreadful strings that led to delightful things— thorns in their cups but roses around their mugs just like vibrant flowers inhaled beneath wooden brutes!

swords do twist oftentimes!, just like forsworn letters carved inside hearts oh how the mighty wind had rumbled their grounds their cups! their roses! their mugs!

It must’ve been when the lime in that whiff had hit! oh do come abrupt thrills! to forsaken wills!

Dover shakes his head exasperated.

Dover: not even the hastiest of blades could highlight your lines you rot witted Norman! if anything but, sons of your lips could fill all those bare rugged stones!

End act 1

The more the clouds drift
In swirling passages and shifts
She sought her past afflicts
Dreaming of what if’s

if you’re not here
it’s like the clouds are thick,
but not with mist
in fact,
the light will be missed

My garden had grown quite low
With not many colours nor vows
Will you water down my tones
Embed the bristles and bones
Wither the missing notes
Bring the dead some words