Buddha was the broken hourglass
that spilled seconds across my backyard.
Mother Earth scolded him for his slipup,
so I smoothed her over with my minute hands.
She told me that he who skips an interval
needs to double back his ticks
so, grain by grain, tick by tock.
She rewound my hands to round out
the stonewashed garden that was being fabricated.
So I steadily swept shards of seconds
under the rugged rug of ill will.
I riddled ripples within her granular skin,
skidded stones across her carved clock
face fitting ****** features together like cogs.
Buddha shook the soil off
and fixed his gaze on my clockwork.
He explained that patience is key
if one wants to harvest his feast.
Before the goods go about,
pivots and rivets need to tie together.
Mother Earth collected her thoughts
and agreed with his concept.
I finished my work, stepped back,
admiring the hourglass I rebuilt.

I have so many

dreams in my ******  head.

They swell and flow and

jumble all at once trying to get out.

Creatures of my design

I have colors dripping from walls in my mind

Walls the lock me from my own kind

I stumble and fall and bruise my ego

On every little slipup

Every little conversation

The words are there on the tip of my tongue

They sit and rot

And then they become the words I should have said but forgot

There is a world I want to show

To let out and have it freely mingle

But there is a wall between me and

What I want to be.

It casts a shadow and I droop from lack of sun

people start to say I am not very much fun

It casts a shadow and dulls the colors

Kills the creatures of my mind

I watch them die all the time.