Pride of place, you take any you positions, I am
at the bottom, fit wherever yous can,

spread thin, ele-mentally thin, surface tension,
truth be told,

as thin as any bubble skin you can imagine being in,
with me,
crazy-- no, not crazy, as in irrational unstable,
with no stashed redeemed idle words to use to make,
ferventingly and effect ual affectionate
art. Art art art, I am art, Ai ai ai, I am in fection per pro
fessorial critque
AI
cuty pi, french curvature sure to pitch that screwball,
Fibbonacci's sion, seeing

so many things follow this curve from a point, might
I?
So, if I were a pinecone, why would I take this
golden progression in materialization,

printing, as in 3-D, at geo-speed, indeed, but we can see;
now, is 2020 and it only gets better,
once.
"This is your life"
Oops, the object orienting this program has slipped

the surly bonds of earth,
in his mind... is that crazy enough? Are you content?

Tell a blue bird she is beautiful,
she will say,
I know.

Refrain from purchasing
Racoon at your local
Wet market.
In your belly,
It can spelly,
Corona.

On my way
To the Lambton Health Unit,
I saw a child in a window,
Holding up a sign.
Be Positive, it sparkled.
Only if I'm negative, I mused.

Today's worries,
Now three days old,
Will be addressed
Tomorrow.

I know death.
Incensed with all of it.
The weighty strain of darkness,
Eyes closed, stopped ears, stuffed nose.
I was petrified while the world stumbled,
My wordless mouth gapes like a maw
Needing stitches.
I lounge in a toga,
Motionless as alabaster.
I was born to die,
But not like this.

You say you won't cry
(and you know I know why),
But you will.
When memory reminds you
Of our life and thrills,
Our talks of love
In the park on the hill.
Our fear for our children,
Our love for each one,
Our love for each other
Before our love was gone.
You say you won't cry,
But you know you will.