I wish I could
make a bouquet
out of words
left unused

Mama always said
not to waste food
well
why not words:

the unit circle
The Boy with
// W47 “The Boy //

I.
He used to be troubled in
                        his thoughts.
One day, he decided to
            talk about it,
                        write about it.
With each stage came
            understanding.
Now,
    he dreams only of peace.

II.
Though fear never leaves him,
    he hugs it so tightly
        like a lost boy finding
            his dad.
With every soul he touches,
    he sees not beasts but
        blossoms.
Each with their own
    fragrance and thorns.

III.
Coming from a lifetime
of detours, the
forks on the road now
ready to be mapped out.
Choosing to embrace
them all: caged
hearts of loved ones,
caring more with every
burden freed.

IV.
At the end of all ends,
he lets himself sink,
a former wanderer at
home with the earth.

Pretty pester
The fist-bumping champion
Schoolyard jester
My all-time fixation

Classroom walls shake
When you guffaw and laugh
Makes my heart ache
When every tease’s a bluff

Beneath your grin
I long to find your glow
But it’s a sin
So says your burrowed frow

My heart wishes
In another lifetime
Pranks to kisses
With your hand locked in mine

They built me, standard-grade,
But with one crucial chip missing.
While other models are made
Programmed for social networking.

Laughter and jibes, except
This variant groping in the dark.
Much signs to intercept,
Machine simmers, overheats, sparks.

Every version upgrade,
Alas, still just one step behind.
Patience in every trade;
Stranger, if you could be so kind...

Pods routed back and forth
Inside
Cells linked to the central nervous system
Soulless

The cry of a sapling
Lush, primal sounds
But deaf to the neighbours
All distracted by a stream
A tweet

"Doors closing..."
Repeated beeps
Launching sprints
Rivalling Olympians
But not all pass the finish line

The end of the line:
School
Work
Leisure
Three modes activated
Upon the opening of pod doors

A hurry
Never stopping
Never hearing
Never open
Of hearts
Wallets

A song from yesterday
The flower withers
Pulp for pennies
The flower withers
Only so much could be done
Outside the system