Prickly warmth beneath my hands
from sun-baked grass shriveled
dry and wilting gold
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1 min
Chained to the earth is a castle of stone
Walls draped in greenery and spire dipped in snow.
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My life is that of a fallen fruit
Fresh, rich and healthy as can be
Succulent and stunning
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The moon, today,
Bold and pretentious,
Grew tired, it seems,
Of being small and
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I remember when my eyes opened
the second time. I turned up the music
how it harmonized
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It’s happening again
The thing is happening again
The thing...
It does not strike me in
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the boy says
"where is
your culture?"
like I have
just
forgotten
to put it
on
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i found serendipity in old things
my things, your things, our things.
the boxes stacked up
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First, I'd like to start off by saying:
I'm sure this is not intentional,
You all
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the irreverence of youth
has no place here
youth gathered together
young heads bowed to
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i.
everything I need to know about the state of the world,
I find out at Trader Joe’s
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The August sun dawns on seed-laden ground
To bless these green hands, in radiant pride,
With a
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The bunny soft glow falls languid,
seeping into the fibers I so tenderly draped
over the prostrate
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On that cosy morning, I went for a hot bath, in my bathtub
Drizzling, sprinkling, Went the wate
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The city bus rolls down the tumbling rocks
And releases its passengers to the open air.
The
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I woke up today in a very strange land.
“Where am I?” I thought, for I sure wasn't home.
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