This Snowscape so quiet;
Not a bird,
Not a car,
Not a sound…
Whiteness covers the world,
Layering atop the frozen ground.
What play to our mirrors
Coming to for our peers
Gains a perfect little show
Moved to smiles and tears.
We cannot drop this act
Because of love- the fact:
That we are truly ourselves
Only inside of our house.
Each blade of grass
In the sun.
Some appear blue-green,
Others appear well-done.
Scorched in noon-day sunrays,
Dancing in the wind for fun.
Each blade of grass is an individual.
Each blade of grass is but one.
At the beach,
this burnt sand desert;
Swimming lake water to avoid the heat,
people lazing on towels,
hiding beer cans
attempt save discrete.
Plants sharp as knives while walking with bare-feet.
At the beach
At the beach
Sex parts covered by diaphanous cloth,
where we sit with wandering thought lost.
discussion minced, quiet commotion-
ride, bipedal, or car from the city to the streets to meet,
at the beach
at the beach.
Lofty clouds amassed,
Images of which to defuse
Hung high mingled against cool inoffensive air
Robin’s eggshell-blue lay o’er matted grass hard hazel hue,
Collecting odd glares
As the willing and able
Constantly circling the direction of perched Cock,
High, going all spun round
Oh, please come down, a sight not to mock
Shut-up, shut-in, sit straight, out of side-
What was impossible is now probable and ascribed
Fond apathy now bruised- speak of senses, sneakers: tied shoes- dried and rash, none could chance a comparison for truth
Left those pedestrians and people-watchers completely confounded; light thought that drowns the senses, unawares and confused.