The moon hangs on the
strings of nothing...
I once was a tree
now screwed up, frustrated trash...
Upon the edge-wood
I ride against thunder...
Elm wings fall lightly
pepper the brick patio...
A seed.
Fresh and new, ready for life's fullest happiness...
The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes...
Do you remember,
what did I ask you once...
Barefoot you reach
for candidacy to...
A young grasshopper lands
on the paper, I was writing upon...
There was no end
to looking inside...
Spring arrives and leaves appear on trees,
Warming Sun kisses wanton skin...
The things which did not brother you,
like crossing the crowd unspoken...