i weave the butterfly hairs into your looks and they look like feathers blowing in the airs with no one to read the book the tongue stopped by time
i tried sign language, the languag… they call it, the mating call, the… of the pelican to the penguin as t… and you see the light through the… and know that there is hope, waiti…
as my thoughts turn orange you see and cling to me wanting to do what you use to do and now the physical is gone
it just comes to me o yeah, that would be good in a poem so i write the line
no going around the bush here picking the posies to expose the bleeding tears - sear with the hot rung a rose left dripping with the memories
looking down at the smooth stone that i just picked from the creek and as the water evaporates i ponder the meaning of your words gently pecking your cheek
the rabbit left no ladder the climb –of no way no bounce of the mushroom no tear in the ear will help –end this sway
pull the towel back out carefully folding it and placing back on the shelf will allow it to grow mold in able to flavor the cheese
the pieces fitting together the fear crowded out with truth flowing and emotions poured out can understand how the
all my progress was placed in the lost or stolen box as the train of eyes cross the sky in puffs of clouds racing for the chicken soup
until now when the understanding is felt while sifting fingers through freshly plowed dirt
some grow up with a spot to fill a title to live a for runner of things to come
reading eyes, bleeding fingers longing for the other to put the salt back in the shaker rearranging the letters to figure the meaning of the words
tracking the shadow of the bird to know the hearts desire is all the people heard in s.o.s. through the wire with out being a liar
yellow flashing white laying brown reaching gray creeping blue floating
