Desiccated red like a rose picked apart
By the sort of angry young man who would tear the wings off a butterfly
Red speaks to me in a cracked voice.
She was a sultry with a temper.
Now her skin is a desert.
She tells me to avoid the heat of summer and grasp spring-
Before the boys become men by the river
I lay in bed at night thinking about that rose
And her love for me.
Conceal the emptiness of space.
I am removed from nature’s skin
As crust from an eye.
Too often I have peered
Over my back fence for
A better view
No one should see that much
We are startled giants
With weak hearts
Space rolls over its
There is no room for
A thing that watches
Yet a big eye cleans
The back of the world
Calligraphy of rain,
Gentle messages stolen from a cloud,
A mother sacrificing her life
For future generations of mothers.
Spilling overtures of relief go door to door
To every blade of wheat.
Only the scavengers will go hungry this year
…waiting for a train
Rolling a die
On the brink
…on the tracks
Dust of the less fortunate
Someone waits for him
There are salty crimes
To be answered for
he slips into the sun
Found poetry on my phone.
Shore said he thought he was my best friend. The windows then go masturbate and get to know you. Tearing down a word or two about the flower growing up, she has been so tired. Carnality is a big deal to begin with, but it isn’t a good idea for Christmas.
Flow of information from the interface is separated from the family room for awhile in the morning. The Male was also Marie Antoinette and her husband abuses her husband. The year is still coated in a long distance.
I am using predictive text to write poems. I pick the word to start with, and then I choose 1 word from the 3 that are offered. Let’s see how that went.
The moon was so burnt out it was my favorite place to be. Corrosive bacteria can cause cancer or even three weeks of birth. Red light is always welcome in our churches. Feathered hair is silvered like a great idea and a great night.