Summer blooms upon your dress,
I'm thinking Can you guess?
I'm trying on express-
ions that, purply,
burn upon a
of a certain land,
and a curtain of collision;
I'm wondering if you've listened?
My dreams are spokes, no connection
I bleed the ropes that left us
sectioned. I feel on slopes
that answer questions.
I Rhyme the most
grammar, do I place
the rules? The land you
want to rule; Kingdoms left
you blue. Sorry, I so so sorry
Says the alien, to the Fool. I Wish.
This is all. I'm drab, I fall. I ans-
wer your call. War is my passion
Singular left to perish into
seeds of shiny grass
Green upon your
I wonder, do you totter on the brink?
How much you've had to drink.
To stick to what we seem,
unraveling but a seam.
Do you think like me?
As fresh as the Queen?
Do you line up at ease?
Would you fake the disease?
Are your flowers blushing, "Pretty Pretty Please?"
Surrendered to your needs, graves that appease.
What color are you bleeding, stem and stalk
stomping with your chalk. What bitter
taste leaves your mouse, what's left
trusts right, turns left into
a house. The right angle
march of senselessness.
The silver starch
You're just the Plus
Amongst a world of rhymes,
you're the just solving of my perilous
flames into shock. you're my clock. Standing
bird chirps clipping the ol' five o-clock.
The stop sign that was naked; the lake
that drowned, and didn't make it.
You're the cushion and
my blanket. Do you
Does the air
leave you bated?
Can the wind find you
raking nails in the fire?
Are you what questions inspire?
Do you imagine me playing with it?
Are you still sick with the ticking of
birds nestled, cozy in my heart?
Do you depart? Do you divide
like the Red Sea, Every
Sixty-Seconds or so?
Right angle throw,
are you the mis-
take I refuse
are you so
slow that your
fingertips freeze on sight of
a warping world wrapped 'round
your vision like wasps buzzing all the
colors that you've ever dared to watch, are
you the nest, the clock, the animal transforming?
are you the chance upon time which is fading, slowly:
we're shoring. Together we're whoring out
the devil's black desire, the fire's
monstrosity. This summer's
healthy bite of animosity.
The ending that stops
me, derailed? The
coming? The bees that
please with honey? The seer
passing over the bloodied? That dot
magnetizing vision, in tandem with a body?