Crimson poppies sprout
from her butterflied neck
but not as graceful

The squid’s creation
Unbeknownst to himself
idleness and bubbles

You read, I’m writing
Nothing that hasn’t been done
So- why bother?

You write while I read
remnants of past monuments
The moral is nothing

A pristine kitchen
In my community dorm
No cups to be found

Ah, I don’t know this
I’ll decorate my ignorance
and most will be fooled

Some occasions I
make people very happy
and I don’t know why