Whenever, February comes around
and if I am still here breathing ,
I must shed a tear
Whenever the coldest month
of the year gets to me
I flashback to 1959 and
the bullock’s heart tree:

My vivid memories might seem a bit strange,
But according to sources, it’s where my Nana
buried my navel string: under the old bullock’s heart tree

The bullock’s heart trees shall forever lived on
So are my memories of that secret place
the sparrows and the blackbirds shall
  forever feast upon the ripened fruits it produces

The broad leaves shall shelter the wild doves,
from the tropical sun and rain,
However, how strange my memories might seems
whenever, February arrives and I am still
breathing, I must shed a tear.
because, I am forever blessed ..Happy birthday to me.

in erectile functions or asexually
the ideas that give meanings or rises
or raise the honor guards rifles;

complicate the pool with lust genes
surprise me in profundity
or praise the humble

help yourself by helping another
don't accept blindly what is handed out
consider the futility

of grandness in you and houses and material things
just once
let it

reproduce
a kinder heart in us in me
in you

ever is times go so fast
flies I swatted come back as mosquitos
Sly grins from cashiers. I think they shortchanged me.
All the small things live
in seconds of life
that add up to
picking the exact ***** out of the millions at
the hardware store.
Or the way I try to perfect a joint
like a diamond finish in sheetrock.
Or the way I get off hearing my saw buzz
through a two by four at dusk
on three hours sleep
with a hangover.

play me an air
   a bluebird lament
something meant for the breathing
  to remember

  all i want to hear
is a soft melody
  sad as the winter
still on the wind

     let your bow waltz
on the strings of my heart
     let the sound
  of your fiddle
set sail

play me an air
   like the bluebird did
     while i dance
  with the snow
in my hair.

alliteration in the title is as an aspect anally aspired
to a tee totally  tot teetering
most metaphorically musical misses myst mystical matriculates into
xenophobia zats a hard one blew the whole ****** thing
i lost my alliteration my theme my (excuse the cliche)
train of thought