grasses brown up nice,
this time of year, Sun slices,
through the spaces of
branches and the love-
ly leaves, shadow seekers,
and sun bathers wait on,
the changing dark shape,
to place their bodies and at
by the end of the day
such justifies the means,
while buckets of water
empty and fill and liquid
pill fertilizer, is a miser
of plant health, wealth
and chaotic growth,
you can't control your
eating or time,
so why should a ****,
heed the call to stop,
why should a plant,
slow down instead,
cant toward the Sun
you worship or hide
your hide from, and
your dog or cat, just
lays about the place,
licks your nose or face,
serve wine over ice and
take a couple of ice cubes
from a heart, that there
is never a chance of thaw,
at the temperature of dry
ice and dry eyes that will
not shed tears, will not
shuck fears, like oysters,
on the life that is a beach,
shoals,
rip tides,
confide and confounded,
leave the corpse in the sand
until the waves have pounded
knowledge of gardening and
gardens of life, go on live
beyond the strife, soften the
take on ****(s).

Oh how that woman looks so divine
we can honestly say she's aged like wine
how her lips would feel on mine
oh wondrous cougar so sleek and fine

I'd love to be that cougar's prey
oh how the thought would make my day
I'd be perfectly content being her toy
I'd always be a good little boy

I'm down for whatever is on the head
as long as we leave dents In the bed
oh how she looks so divine
that woman there who aged like wine

Twice I confessed my soul to a ***** priest with bible hands
The first time I was lost, not even for words, just for coherence and faith
The last time I was a babbling fountain, spilling all my secrets and before I realised
It was too late. Silence.
Where was the priest? I still saw the white
I still heard the tap tapping of of his judgement on the bench
I smelled the incense like my grandmother’s room after Friday prayer

I woke up and I knew that the church was my sins
With walls of plastered apologies to God
Windows of hope and breaths of fresh air just in case I decided to change
And of course that alter was my heart
There’s no place for a broken soul in my church

And it pained me to note that although intention was all I thought that mattered It was much more, much more than what I confessed
Much more than my mind was prepared to give
And my church of sins and apologies crumbled that Sunday morning and I was left with rubble of nothing I could piece together

an early Sunday mist of rain
fuzzes the air
a starling flies overhead