Is it a flower? A power?
Art? A part of the body?
Is it to-be smart?
God’s image isn’t a pretty one
Fibonacci’s numbers aren’t a petty sum,
So why are there snobs and others, scum?
Money meets fun and glum
Like the prospect of a paper gun.
Disconnection, dissipation, disassociation
DISS, DISS, DISS
Dystopia in a place where
We all go, and we all come
There’s meaning beyond but be careful
There’s peril in wisdom
So stay sterile
In this cerebral
There’s a Ferrell child
A lust for nature
The wild star-tiled pile of fertile aisles.
A mushroom kite,
A sight for cat’s eyes
The rabbit’s habits habitually happen
The clock on the chest begins to blossom
Two eyes lie back, I lay on my back and play dead like a possom
Third open, my mind twists and tosses
Muses past lives,
Ancient like fossils
- This moss is lit purple
- This grass is bliss, blue
- This moon is green, this loon is freed.
Nature, my Queen.