Kalanchoë, finally you bloom!
Welcome little foreigner,
To the corner of my room.
With frangipani flame
And crocus-gold effulgent.
Strains past succulent skin
Joyous, ebullient!
Though your petals grow
Just to hold it in,
Fiery blood escapes
Past watery blocks of ester-swell
And you exult with me
In a wintry cell.

someone planted a seed of sadness inside of him along time ago
it took root and began to bloom before he even knew
at first he fought it, trying to trim it down, choke it out
but it was tougher than he expected
so he learned to live with it
but each day it grew, its roots reaching to the tips of his toes
it poisoned any joy that tried to reclaim him
he started watering it and caring for it
more than he even did himself
It became so apart of him that he could not separate the two
he no longer wanted it to die
for fear that its death
might **** him

the rain poured down
pours and now
the rain is watering
watered mine
plant
what means
me

the rain poured down
the sun did not shine
but it was all
in an interesting light
everything was around
in the brown light
but from a distance
shone at home
small blue
lights
like lightning
or rain
when love
knocks at the door

the rain poured down
and red colors flew
and the red colors fell
the rain poured down
and numbers people
pronounced
there were windows
many glasses
and thoughts
eternal
and not punched
immortal

19.07.18

And they are attractive little bunches
Holding themselves together with lightshows and
Hanging over stucco ledges
Until they are replaced
In the dead of night with nobody but the janitor's
Wrinkled gaze
Pruning and yanking
their dry roots
To replace with something new.

The Fibbonacci stories spiral downstairs like infinity
And a reflecting pool looks like the domed firmament of some great sistine

I could see for a moment in my upturned gut
The draw towards infinity that lies at the end of that hollowed mosque
And which holds me firm in trust

There are no stairs, oddly enough
Only a polished high speed elevator
With fancy buttons that light up
And bring us down to ground
Floors that once were above

I stared at my face in between
The metal doors and wondered
When the time would come
For me to be something more

I started going to counseling this week
because my plants started dying

the roots are all rotted
and the leaves are just slowly eating away at themselves

maybe my roots are rotten too
and I need to fix them before I start eating myself up

a boy to a girl,
Texts sitting across a desk;
love, a potted plant!

Remember that time
I told you I'd felt
like a plant recently?
I'd gone out
and soaked up some sun
after those dark winter months.
The feeling  is
the same when I think
of seeing you again.
To hear that sparkle of a voice
the light of your touch.
You are radiant,
and I a faithful stalk of green.

In the center of my heart
She planted a tree.
Happiness a branch I'd soon know.
The leaves sprouting in full with
no limitation to height.
The roots carry the depth of how far
her hands have gone.
Planting the seed I'll always feel.
Soaring into the sky without limit.
To how much is given, how much we take.
The fruit of a smile ripe at every moment.
A gap for us to sit between the branches.
The moment fear of falling has gone.

The higher we climb.
The higher we sit.

Rotting meat lined the walls
of the spot where the crime was committed
Locked from the outside
Shut in as the oil burned,
the smoke engulfing,
the flames consuming the people as they screamed, "Let me out"
but the indentations of the footprints on the door spoke loudest
They spoke of 25 beautiful faces
lost in pursuit of the American Dream.®