Farting felicity -
How long gone, now a
distant star in space-
as a gurgling brook of
heavenly murmurs, disquiet
thrumming combo, turned
crescent flesh, brutal and subdued until,
one socializes, recombines,
and altruism visits, presides, provides.

Carpi, digitorum, and flexors,
metacarpals, index, and fingertips
dangle a top for a gambler's game,
and, with it, the fate of outcome, and
woe for the long-begotten soul,
the soul drab in its rag, robe, and *****,
whose wealth subtracts as it doth add,
and a wise fool realizes -
Time and grace,
Love and death,
departure and arrival,
is but ******.

Thrums the bee waggle-dance in a haunt of Indian horsepaths,
Or the shaking leaf one second past the strike of galloping rain
/ Parsimonious lightning, thrifty in its jagged stalks
Against this night of heavy-hearted oaks /
Then the hay-fringed bale of sleep, rolled into a valley of slowed breathing,
Through parting cloud-diabolique, poison-peers the wet toadback of Autumn,
Glowing moon-gristle in the bosky wolf’s beard with its wireframe of teeth.

Trying to solve the puzzles
of life. Is it not you morphed cloud of
lips in fusion of love and stings?

The heart of a fig tree says
it with flowers. Why did you look back?
Would you like to sleep under the stones?

Invent a truth like a lie.
Critique will give the jdgement. Why
the moon will confess a ******.

Snow whispers as it falls
gently filling mountain halls
Does it ever speak or see
as it crowns the autumn tree?

Snow whispers as it flies
when it dots the feathered skies
Can you hear its soulful cries?
for it weeps when spring arrives

Commonness of the flowers  -
virtuous insignificance,
invoking visions of royalty
for ants, and snails, and such,

How trivially contests mankind,
what costumes their children wear,
while, silently, a bulbous sun
sidles across the sky.