So go busy yourself
with slavish tasks...

There's this tenderness
inside my chest...

You're as giving as stone;
pretty to behold...

Lies as sincere as poetry
swam beneath his shallow pond...

I won't fume about
in old ways...

I feel deflated, like a birthday balloon
post party...

Hey there best friend
could you possibly wag your sharp tongue...

Sometimes I skip breakfast
and eat poems instead...

I do hate your blank face
of meaningless white words...

Oh, my precious painter
you were always so beautiful...

The flower child breathes in harmony
and exhales peace through paper dreams...

I use to pinch you like a flower
between my pursed lips...