This is the moment where I should embrace the wintery-powder snow to come.
We all have naive delight to create snow angels.
So too the most damaged pimped out hoes.
The death of every thing I know.
Even one thing for certain.
I blew according to the way the wind doth blow.
until I walked right into the eye of the
shouted them down-
No, I won’t go slow.
Voice ricochets seeking a target
The managers above cloud corporation hear my
Attacks of panic.
I got what I was owed.
Hitch hiked a lift with a passing tornado.
Whirlwind dropped me off in a place with no directions to the Republic of sense-at-ors of common.
I walked along the the uneven, cobbled path — another independent equality free flowing feminist ,
juggling with digits and exchanged words with third eye chakra chemists
All alternate in form — it ends for the same means.
Or is that me unravelling myself from being stitched upped — picking away at the seams?
I didn’t mean to lose my way — country side hikes are not my governing zodiac sign indicating
I’m in my element.
This body contains still waters wrapped in layers of skin.
No teasing trickle or babbling brook
nor a wishing well to reassure my hearts confidence within.
Summer time and the livings never easy
not when you’re a weed on self destruct,
especially when the sun shines on and makes blossoming
a gift without the morning sickness
That sense of queasy.
Rudimentary realisation .
Dark sunglasses can’t make me ingnioto —
I should of clapped my hands
,in breathless awe when the sun set—
lowered gently against the abstract backdrop
Tropical orange salmon ,pink sprayed skies.
Pay my respects —
Let it rest when it his time to slip down and fall.
Reap what you sow.
I deal with every blow.
Turbulent Winds spirals me off common ground
I find myself high up and all alone
the come down — finds me face down in muddy bog marsh — eyes arrested by a
Facetious fog —
Not even a bird to sing me an ode of encouragement to aid me back home.
Its true what they say we come into this world alone and we die alone.
Money, stuff — the acquisition of property
— it all gets left behind when we lift the veil to step into the next body of energy-
stagnation left in a cadaver —
this is our vessel —
Our only claim to earths throne.
Seasoned Cycles of
it’s contradictory to our nature
Wearily wallow over wilted , dead plants — tomorrow I’ll throw them away.
it’s all procrastination
Embrace the opaque
, the possibility of a welcome winter wave in
undisturbed silence-solace only to be find in untouched fallen snowflakes.
Trigger the cycle to fall — this is autumn .
Death and decay I feel implacably broken.
This idea of pressing flowers ,dried
Into bookmarks is a nostalgic notion.
Shouldn’t I let it go and embrace the tremors, the blast of the callous cousins cold and colder
A gift of this perilous season?
I live on an island full of tall trees in treason for being out of season.
Let these words be enough.
Be my reason.
On my knees begging for hands to let go of me-especially those who touch are rough.
Grant me sight to see-
permit my body and soul to feel the spectrum
exhilerating and painful emotion.
Facing forward to a future
smelling the unsullied scent of rebirth
A possible sight spotting of Tigger
ready to uncoil and bounce into spring
For the awakening of the the blessed bees, Lilly white lambs and a hereuse holiday closer to the ocean.