To all the

chewy chocolate that’s

‘tween my teeth,

to the tears

o’ stormy clouds both

sour & sweet,

to early

evenings’ smeared lemon

restless lights,

to bus wheels’

jingling thunder-struck

keys on kites,

to flapping

jackets that make the

cool winds warm,

to clapping

firs both ecstatic

& forlorn,

to the tea

& coffee scorching

cherry leaves,

to the bats

that flap their purple

tapestries,

to night planes

giving me a wink

as they pass,

to sluggish

November lunchtime’s

foggy mask,

to the wood

spiders chillin’ on

the drywall,

to skylarks

shrinking into blues

without calls,

to pop-up

ghosts drenched darkly with

neon green,

to buttered

toast drenched starkly in

strawberries,

to the gift

that mixes the moon

& the sun,

to the warm

opposites present

within the

light that’s only bright surrounded

by so many crevices so

dark. Don’t not be gloomy: fountains

freeze next year still always missed, though,

still when I watch shadow pines

brushing far away I find

like I almost like to pine

death’s demise

shaped like fallen maple twigs.

Autumn’s cut so thin.

Hope I get to ‘gain begin…

Accompanying music.

Heralding the rainy fall,

spotted aliens, you bring

color to this misty pall,

dancing, happy, moldy springs,

mixing well with jungle drops

that humidifies the air

elsewise empty. E’en when not

eating you, you taste o’ pears.

Bounce me to the magic kingdom,

teach me songs so I can sing them—

all that sugar till we ring done.

Accompanying music.

Forest firs, please, don’t you ever stop

being bed-headed in the sniffling

wind; squeeze out your fur the shower-fed drops

rainbow in the sun & just as tickling.

Both in heat & chill, your bark, it barks

with emboss & bevel, home to so

many worms & birds in many parks,

wake in sun & moon—in both you glow.

But some happy stories become tragic,

for the fir was cut down from its vantage—

disadvantages of too much magic.

Accompanying music.

Soft caress against my swollen

tongue, so sticky, O so sweet,

smells like honeyed springtime pollen,

tastes like roasted coffee beans.

Friends with butter, bread, & jelly,

but best friends with creamy chocolate;

but just ‘lone it still fills bellies:

scrape a spoon & take a long lick.

In the time the pantry’s light,

how you filled those lonely nights

just before food stamps arrive.

Accompanying music.

I know that you taste just like

lemon heads or gummy worms;

your bright stars with just 1 bite

blow up in raspberry bursts.

Drink up all your empty black,

drown myself in cherry cola;

don’t care if I rot with plaque—

my sole hope is super nova.

Then I’ve eaten all the stars;

now my universe is starved—

as ‘twas my eternal start.

Accompanying music.

You’ve been passing round my ears

since I was in kindergarten,

always growling soothing cheers

in your warblin’ Martian garblin’.

What’s the song you sing today?

Not the same as years ago,

though all share the calming waves,

many single-showing shows.

Who are you under those hoods?

On to work or buying goods?

Stay as shady as you should.

Accompanying music.

Is it gray or is it blue?

Leaves between both black & green.

Sunny’s shift is ending soon.

Zephyrs scurry up my sleeve.

Feel a tingling in my chest.

Minutes pass without a thing.

Papers lying with the rest.

I just want to catch the seas.

Now I see some purple there.

Still I feel the still chill air.

Stare @ shades o’ midnight wares.

Accompanying music

Feeding thirsty leaves, the grapes

paint the concrete oily yellow;

& they keep unique pastel glow

e’en when wrinkled by dry age.

Get’n to business pecks the crow,

front & back, that beaky drummer;

no concern that e’en in summer

faded mountains still smell like snow.

But that sun was far too distance;

now there’s shade. The fact, though, is that

still these crows get down to business.

Accompanying music.

I can taste the bloody iron

in your sticky spinach clinging

to the rocks, your simple sirens,

though its your leaves that are singing.

There is safety in remains,

memories o’ wine-sweet bliss;

ride on waves, on ships, on chains,

green all that is colorless.

Still you cling to my gray shoes;

though I love your ugly fruit,

progress says you get the boot.

What a waste. Without a taste,

stretching out for help, but found

none in suns on yellow days,

frowning drowning pastel clown.

Nothing’s sweat in salty tears,

only smeared & only itchy

make up made up of those years—

dark, & yet they still bewitch me.

Dump you down my creaky drain,

please remind me of the rain—

Please! I promise to behave…