Inbetween addresses
Inbetween floors
And hospitality
And no mailbox - can I use yours?

The cellphone is dead
Prospects unknown and yet retired
Extra people dot the landscape
Fierce and unfuckable
They wander like nomads
Free and untouchable.

By commerce or City Hall
People *******
Breeding with no decline.

Swallow words while laughing at it
The System strokes and dies in gurgled spit
All these people laughing
While Earth dies in the midst of it.

The tolerance of trash has gone
They're getting awfully serious now
Choose your planet and stick with it
Your life is a whimsy with ants on it.

Poetry Is Beautiful
Poetry is a painting.
        Your canvas, your paper.
Your pen is your brush.
        Each word a pigment
When blending pigments in sentences
It can create beautiful things.
        People have trouble sharing them.
Because art is personal
It is a part of them that they do not want judged.
It is honest.
        Which is beautiful
And raw
        And is not always perfect.
Which is beautiful.
Poetry is music.
Each note tells a story,
Every crescendo
        A word
                                STRESS
Each pianissimo a whisper.
        The fermata, the lines
The tempo the rhyme
        Music is beautiful.
Poetry is music.
Poetry is you.
                        YOU are beautiful.
Poetry is beautiful.
Like poems,
                You are are criticized.
And looked at up and down
                        By greedy eyes.
People search for meaning in you.
                        You, like poetry
                are complex and different.
and people have different opinions on you.
Like Poetry, some do not get you.
                                Some do not understand you.
And others have a great appreciation for you.        
        Which is beautiful.
                
I am poetry.
        I am different.
People judge me too.
From the curve of my thigh
        To the shape of my hips
To the swing of my walk
To the length of my lines and stanzas.
You are poetry. I am poetry. Music is poetry.
        Poetry is beautiful.
Poetry is the earth.
From the burn of the sunset
                to the ache of the old willow tree
To the rusty croak of the toad
The golden fields of wheat,
To the mountains.
         Confident and strong.
        Which are beautiful.
The earth is beautiful.
Poetry is the world.
It is yours,
        It is mine.
Like the world
It is yours.
it is mine.
        People have trouble sharing them.
Which is not good
for anyone,
But like the world, poetry can be beautiful if shared.
Poetry is beautiful
Poetry is us.
It is everything.
Poetry is beautiful.
        
p        o        e        t        r        y
IS
bEaUtIfUL.