Birds, Herds, and Herbs converge,
Within weeds and trees-- some evergreens,
These roisterous worlds, a wonderous sight!
The flume of art and the womb of life.

But what if I were to say,
This rite has grown dull,
For the true beauty,
Lies in your soul.

Indeed! It's true! You're full of hue,
A teeming world resides in you!
Your body, mind, all shaped by time,
Host to shine of different designs,
Friends, foes, and fair alike,
Within your bounds, have made a life.

So know this well, embrace the view--
The universe is part of you!

"Micro-organisms are the most powerful force known to man.

Everything relies on these tiny creatures,

And even us, the giants of the climates-

Are subject to a cold wind of a virus."

-

Micro-

Economica,

Control every activation-

Watch the electronics-

Spawn and stuff,

Primordial goo is gruff.

-

Enough fist-i-cuffs

It's rough.

-

Every expression, hides a smaller organism

Smiling and fizzling.

-

Micro-organisms,

We are controlled every hour.

We are the wretches...

-

Half smiles, packed with germ styles

It's sick.

It's just the way we function- on top of the garbage pile.

-

Grasp for the notion-

Emotion is an ocean

Grasp the notion-

Emotion's in commotion.

-

It's the essence of a penned hand,

Every letter is different,

that forms un-same words.

The chromosomes that form us-

We are entitled to so much corruption.

-

Bold faced lie-

It's agonizing, trying to fight

Having raging black mold

Conformation in cleaning out our insides.

-

But I smile...

My teeth crawling with it,

Everywhere,

Carry as I speak."

Sixty degrees on solstice day.
An incubator.

If we go to the beach we can find all the bones of the dead animals
that are supposed to be buried in the snow
and throw them in the lake.
We can dip our heads in the cold water
to wash away these nasty thoughts
growing on our brains like bacteria in the warm weather,
send them into the lake with the bones and the souls of the dead animals
that are supposed to be buried in the snow.

The supercharged atmosphere
zaps my fingers when I open the car door.
Static electricity.

If I collect all that ecstatic magic
I'll let you hold it in your hands
in a jar
and we can watch it dance.
A hundred million fireflies
that should have died on the lips of
December.