I looked at him softly, placed my hands on his face,
and just for a moment, saw myself in his place.

I am the power and grace and the beauty you see,
The strength to serve you, yet the will to be free.
I am the gentleness, soft snorts and deep eyes of brown,
But the passion and prowess and pawing the ground.

I am the race and the fight and the wanting to win,
The muscle and sweat drops and glistening skin.
I am the step and the kick and the gleam and the pride,
But a bond and a boot and a stick in my stride.

I reached out to him, to bring him back home,
But he fought and he fled, so I turned tail, alone.

I have sought many of the past lives,
Witnessed ages of the Earth’s passerby;
From when I was a little sapling,
Until vines and twigs turned wrinkling-
I am a linden tree and this is the story,
I’d tell in the form of poetry.

Many and many a year ago,
When mountains ceaselessly echo
And the birds chirped harmoniously,
Zephyr mutters silence and serenity;
Clouds clover sky in gleaming azure,
Meadow teeming with verdant grandeur.

The sound of the raging sea wave
Reverberates through the mighty cave;
Sun-kissed sand wallow all day,
Pristine and bright as the sun’s ray;
In the boggy soil I stand firm,
Watching the pendulous vine squirm.

Butterflies fluttering in great splendor,
Hovering and sipping nectars galore;
Screeching seagulls can be heard-
From a distant they form herd;
A group of mackerel rapidly swim,
Dwelling into the never-ending stream.

Those were the days when green
is all there is to be seen;
Before the rise of the civilization,
When humans value appreciation.

Blazing red lights swallowed,
Then ashes and dust followed;
Streams and riverbanks silently cry,
As fishes and clams gradually die;
Birds started singing in sorrow-
The broken melody of tomorrow.

This is the story that I’d be telling-
To my children and their sapling;
I am a linden tree, blessed and forsaken,
Whose memories and land they’ve taken.

Under dusty cushions on a couch,

She keeps none but a lighter;
Lingers avid flash in dusk
And a smiley ray of photons
On her slender arms.

Under drops of southern after-rainbow arcs,

Upper limbs resemble straws
Posed between the lamp and me.
Stags of pure and yellow rows
Brush their antlers on my lids;

Draw a slit between her lips.

Dull pattering through agonised woods
fumbling winds, serrating storms
animals vanishing into the undergrowth
scurrying beneath the ground
birds huddling under leaves.
The river breaks its bank
water spreading out like vomit
villages swamped with infestation.
The storm batters and bruises,
bellowing through the night like a troubled god.

I watched a cat cross the road today.
It just made it to the thick cut grass waiting on the other side.
What I didn't know in that moment was that I was inside.
While it roamed the outdoors, it was exposed to the big wide world.
The world I wish see more of.

i remember going to a museum
which was also the end of a movie.
it was eleven floors tall, blue outside,
windows placed throughout swirling hallways

i don’t remember most of the floors,
but at the top there were animals;
we began observing little birds at first,
who seemed to be out of their cages

(all of the animals were out of their cages)

As we struggle for air,
Waves crash black bones,
Trees subjugate,
Flocks congregate,
Lost, like dog without bone,
We wither away endlessly,
Without a say,
but remain warm,
For arms of open joy,
As we fear we might lose,
A place we once built,
But remain blind,
Of her flawless beauty.

Tangley Wangling

Fruit Jews in Tutus at youth group, maybe just a few with their screws loose. One self-rolling righteous group, their brothers grinning
Within the depths of their white-heads at the brim of a wet blanket suckling the needles catering new drug use. Two by two, elefants and woozels, hippopotamü's confusals, spongey-butts outfitting the rye n' wines refusals.

The luxury of a coccyx felt from the fingers turn to sunrise, where the water's weight some surprise them, in an integers shock-appraisal. Lucky loos by the brothel befit these new arrivals, though some tyrannosaurs despise 'em, smoke as much as you can if you've got 'em.

But don't let your antiques get you down, an ornithologist lends herself to your bookends, and even that nighthawk roosting makes your car alarm sound second rate, it's seconds late as the aves rave to the ravens, and they pontificate. Owls hoo-hoo and hooting, branch off with the others and start colluding. They just wanna get you home, to get back those prosthetics you've loaned.

Canoodling barbarians on their way back from the aquarium, demand  their fires come from oblivion, which sends sparks of arguments from the sharks and the bathylkopian oblivions, where we found that this water's warm these citizens, demand recompense for such grandiose living expense, three pence to use the phone, twelve rupees towards the sofa, and even a deutsch mark for every sit or every look at sit, it's just a chair, a doubly set of wooden legs, idling under a table plank. Pirated by the buttocks, such bullocks it is, and that's just it!

An archaeologist on assignment discovered that the future of the rhinoceros exists upon the olfactory exaggerated proboscis, the result of flushing unused anti-biotics, and is currently working for dimes out of college to deluge this quite deprived yet interesting biopic.  

The films of the junky, grab at the balls thrown about by The Monkees, and the musicians wearing those stickers on their breasts, are victim to XXS cotton denim vests, unzipped and barely covering themselves, added to by the accessories and rings, jewelry if anything, a pearl necklace and nubile sacrifis.

And the trollops frolic, diurnally dispose of logic, doing the hoopty-hoop, the alley-oops, with mom's high school flute in nothing but cowboy boots!

These are, the new discoveries of our species, carved into the marble and wet frescos, in the street reliefs, spray-painted and air-brushed motif, this creates such gatherings for throngs of people who've unachieved their needs, who've displaced their parents and display their racist grieving beliefs to trash indigenous language pleas for francophonian linguistic greed that have splayed their hellacious treaty in what's considered to be modern circumscribed and ill-painted cuneiform visually conceived, vocal graffiti.

So that the neu-faux derogatory delegates stress to sudatorium, it has regressed to moratoriums, we've now cancelled this sport consortium of awful and flagrant art performances.

I am a loving animal
Despite what people may think
A lot of people don't like me
I wish they would rethink

I'm just as loyal as a dog
I will always be by your side
Even when you are bored
I'll keep you occupied

Sometimes I like to be alone
It's not really a crime
I still liked to be hugged
Just not all the time

Yes I may scratch
Just like dogs may bite
It's how I protect myself
I'm sorry if I gave you a fright

I like to be well groomed
Don't worry I can do it
I'm independent
You don't have to commit

I will bring you presents
But I can only afford mice
I just want to make you happy
By doing something nice

When I am happy
I will let you know
I'll purr on your lap
It will make you glow

I tend to have a crazy half hour
I like dashing around
Did I mention my meow?
I make the cutest sound

I'm easy to aquire
I'm usually quite cheap
Look in your local animal shelter
We come in heaps

I'm really quite cute
And I need a good home
So please don't leave me
In this cage all alone

I am a cat
I will make the best pet
Just like a beloved dog
Can you give me a chance yet?

Inadvertently
It slips to my realm.
Believe, I never wanted it so bad
To tickle stone of my shell;
To flow;
To be my well.

And it - the weather -
Having never been anticipated,
Bends, transforms
Into a weatherly incipient orgasm.