The grass is so unfair, blemishing the earth with shades of antipsychotic and anesthetic green. I long instead for flowers. Flowers mailing a parcel at the post office. Flowers mending my broken spirit. Flowers mining the sun for smiles. Purple flowers purr fancifully. Pink flowers harvest at the vineyard. And yellow flowers! Oh yellow! Toying with my tresses and my head, leading me down alleys of lust.
Day: November 27, 2024
3 Visions of God
God is a painter.
Fuchsia climbs teal until a cool zenith is reached.
God is a poet.
The words He sows in the crevices
Of my mind bear fruit a glorious shade
Of red violet.
God is a mathematician.
How 1 can be >1,000,000
And how leaving 99 to go after one multiplies blessings.
Light’s Hostess
With stinging precision, the words running riot (wearing their little purple pelerines) ran me through with sharpened criticism. I have been lax with the water lately and with cream. Festooned angels wait for my better judgment to kick in like a geriatric song on a scratchy record player. I have neglected my responsibilities as Light’s hostess. Mahogany fog fills me in with an inauspicious and anticlimactic anticipation.
Miniature Moon 