The larkspur tuck into the Reed minnows
Evening up guppies and grub
I stare out at the lake
Wondering why its taken me so long to write
Something, anything
It occurs to me that writing is an act of love
And I've been out of love with many things
Avoiding my feelings
The feverish sense of disdain
Upon seeing the glows of the city.
There is a sense of pain I feel
For the earth
For humanity
Seeing billows of smoke rise industry
These broken towns
Where I can imagine
Children
In there cribs parents watching t.v
Fast food diets
Stories where
The big brother
Is never good enough
I don't know how to turn off my faucet of emotions sometimes
So I don't bother
Entering the room with the running sink.
The ducks merganzers, birch bark, pine, aspen, willow, lake, glinting
Alpine
Frozen ice snow.