In the morning there was green,
A cool, whispering green infecting the spruce and air.
Within the covetous morning
They harbor the dark –
The spruce and air in collaboration with
More green than I can understand.
My sight is green like the stem of a flower
Used to promote something more interesting.
Green is what I see alone in the canals
That swerve my needs.
Yet I dislike al l but the brightest, loudest of greens
Because they remind me of my perfect noon.
Cool with the giant stripe of red legging.
She stands in her podium of potatoes
And sings Christmas carols to her children
Who hear their mother singing but don’t hear what she says.
Glasses make little things look bigger,
So finish your beer and peer into your glass.
This – candy holiday mother and spiced potatoes and unacknowledged songs
Will fade and they will wonder what they wanted to hear
And if she said it.
Roses want facts.
The perfection of geometry turns them
Into origami beauty.
Wind has a science,
But breeze is also an uninterpretable art.
Carpentry measured and flush to my forehead.
The rays of the moon in my dance,
Lethal spillage of color.
I’m short on butterflies.
The hypocrites are barely saved.
When I lose my voice
Splendor will smell me.
Closed water storage area.
The yellow letter
I can’t fathom the more dangerous work.
In my dressing pocket,
It’s a yellow nine.
I get my pancakes with extra syrup
When my husband makes breakfast.
I understand the shape of my body.
It is large and unrestricted.
And to come upon desire
With a desire for hidden light
Is to make lemonade in sum.
All 9 of my colors are yellow.
One book is very simple,
Don’t take 90 years to decide.
Taking emotional plans,
And you’ve gone over the edge with my name.
I walked down the road crying for milk.
I left a trace of ten behind me.
God as a musician.
God as a father.
God as a star.
I have no idea what fun is in my body.
Only dark memories of waking up yesterday
On the bank floor and covered with a foreign coin.
I chase a little,
Having more darkness in my right leg than my left.
Let the physics escape.
My milk went down warm.
I need a drink.
There are things that ordinary people don’t do,
The state of the art fog hides me.
When traveling I go hand in hand with the saints.
The tunnel is at the end of the light.
There is no difference between my moods
And my imperfect soul.
Yesterday is gone,
And his ashes were scattered by train.
Boiling water must be discussed in the pool.
My needs and desires grow
Like kudzu on you
Taking them from me is not stealing,
A label that disposes of bloodletting
To quiet its memories of such a beautiful heart.
You better not see it.
My tears flowed.
As if the stones had struck every one of them,
They were tearful themselves.