I pour myself

a big Think

–a double entendre
 
 

to compliment the

nuance

of complex

Mood

steaming before me…

After race,

Every bite

goes unwasted, and

I opt for funk

(instead)

an especially tall

order, and

one I thought

those that fate

forgot…

Weary-eyed, and floating,

welted ice against glass

—winks

a

visual?

that suits

to the

letter.

She walked.

Strewing seed

–she grew birds.

Tending thought

–she sowed peace.

Fencing cars

–she foiled order.

Planting rows

–she discovered path.

Cutting cord

–dream branched.

Emerging from

decades long

cocoon,

Butter ripped anticipated

wings

–on unanticipated observer

and

Tattered,

Battered

–a forcibly excreted

bi-product—

Butter couldn’t fly

Bits of purgatoried past

sticking to

velvet,

and brand new hell, besides,

Butter couldn’t

even be

a drone.

Fluttering,

Flapping,

Butter tried

taking off…

over

&

over

&

over

–realizing

(too late)

it was

over.

Over for Butter,

Butter melted down

–a stain where

promise once dwelt…

–a greasespot

before

her time.

No wonder I

am size 0

. . .

whittled and

half-whittled

by the pare

of you

. . .

cut down to sighs

that isn’t.

Not for nothin’, but

. . .

what wood

you do?

In truth,

there’s only

one direction

2 witch

I have a

real Calling…

but

G

–I ain’t sayin’…

and of all the

activity I do…

I prefer

fresh air

to Gyms…