The April Not An Apple
..................................
Forth it comes fourth in the year
A birth to some and death to others
The weak are broken while the meek are built in relevance
Needed you see change or you're fasting it
We struggle to make progress as challenge
Many are graduating others starve with their documents
Celebrating a New month as rent stands by the door
As they plan to marry they plan divorce
Business achievements over collapsing ones
Scandals mother-daughter over father while grannies couple with grands
Amess not to miss
Underwears used as tops swagg toppling respect
Apples are sweet April is bitter
April is turning Apple bitter
Will you be April or April
MTB

certainly this certainty would well be  a possibility sometimes
To twist or tear tied tung ensnared candented smolder of a sunrise
Come sing, sing to me the sea's silliloquey tho it may fall down from all eyes
We work to wonder why we weave while within we wonder while we why
What wonderful weakness would wake within divine
Broken below another sea beneath the surface and out of reach from time
A possibility sometimes
Possibility Sometimes...
Sometimes...

The word I. The idea, ego. Me, relative to you.

I am, but you may not know that. May is your word here.
May be is all yours

to follow in the flow of
all that

anyman,
(wombed or un nevergoes unsaid some days,)
any among the lot o' ye, may be able to swim thru if
it don't get thick.

I, a-poli-gize, bow down, kau-tau, or no--

un appolo getic  magic tech

I stand, sistere, my command,
in this realm, I command lies to stand in light and
I redeem the idle words from the ashes.

Okeh that's my job. I am not a messenger, I sweep.

When walls come down and chains are cut, it's amess.
I become the besom sweeping up the destruction.
--- why is any line after any line. sirius, you have to ask.

orthodox definitions serve as ample chains to hold any
child to the post where today's
sufficiency of evil squats

quotidianishit, day after day. I find such chains,

I cut them with the fruit of my lips,
shape-shifted to the sword,
from the stone,
you know the one...
then bing back to me through a google plex of porbables

fighting spelchek to go viral.

A blind me, I lied, and saw the light. Dumb luck.

And then, rather than, lie once more and say,
I can't believe this,

I am that sword, still be, and know.
eh.
I, the word,
I did it. I made a point and a word formed,
as a bubble might

under relative circumstances. I know, round and round.

If this were a game, this is a key. (ah, a secret here.)

if this were a game, and I were playing.