Round and around
to the beat of the sound.
Smaller and smaller
circles bend together.

Words will go to war
The effect on me is bore.
Meaningless fighting
I end up laughing.

From correction publication
to abdominal muscle saturation,
I can't I can't, please I laugh,
my throat, my throat, it's like a giraffe.

Twenty five thousand, maybe a couple hundred,
the Wind puff on the roots, they're as good as dead,
bending towards the weight behind you,
giving within seconds too.

Rain, hail, sleet, and snow
Obviously no evidence of so called "Growth."
Not to mention impossible under
circumstances of watered fertilizer.

Now it's endless net jabbing
and a matter of quickly forgetting.
Living assignments, requirements, deadlines, and submission,
done for days, nothing left to say, I recluse to intermission.