The body dies :
A crumpling
not an implosion
as I turn inward
on my own corpse
In a desperate gasp
for sustenance and revival
The result ? :
A flourish!...
but, then, a puff
deflation
The Surround caves me
collects arrears upon my vehicle
I am to make no feast
the body is the process

the finest china
pure white porcelain
lined with subtle, silver strokes
soundlessly sleeps through seasons
only to wake on special occasion

the finest china, she was told
must remain untouched
unearthed by the folly of freedom
free from scratches and scars
always in fear of falling apart

so, she wrapped herself tightly
in faded newspaper
laid herself gently
on the topmost shelf
rested in dust and cobwebs

through the glass cabinet door
his eyes were blinded
by a dazzling display of perfection
he held her by the edges –
porcelain paradise in reckless palms

no longer is she
afraid of falling
in every direction
carelessly playing
with wild, wild winds

each fall bears a new
crack in her core
and renews in golden lining
until the day
she is pure gold

the leafless poplar––
here before me,
here after me.

Particles collate, clouds gather
An uprising it seems, stronger together
Resolute it stands, till it holds no further
As any body collapses, under mounting pressure

Little drops to torrential downpour
The inconvenience it brings, just what we abhor
Struggle we must with virtuous patience
If we are to enjoy befallen petrichor

Trees are fed, flowers bloom
From this garden, brilliance loom
As all things present, this too is transient
A reality so poignant, about an existence impermanent

Leaves frail, flowers wither
Consumed by soil from which it consumed
No such thing as eternal bliss
Such are the laws of our symbiosis

We arrive from dust and depart as stench
A reality from which, we shouldn't flinch
As we gaze into a horizon so eternal
All we have, are moments so ephemeral

Gust of wind
sweeps up leaves,
carries them to
the end of the street.

The biting air,
each breath turns to smoke.
On simple days,
beauty unfolds.

Lights sparkle
around every corner.
Looking for love,
finding it always near.

Life once again
becomes so clear.

There's nothing in my pocket
but for a smile and the hope
that it'll last a while.

Hiding from my depression
in the space between dark thoughts,
I watch the trees lose their leaves,

and thinking of the struggle for joy
that has plagued my life since I was a boy,
I dry the tears on my sleeves.

Yet all of this is soon forgotten
as the seasons change along with my mood.
Brooding is worth nothing in this floating world.