In love with life and all of its foibles.
Urban scoundrels engaged In silent skulking Upon twilight’s rising They hunt for mice Determined leaps Diving into tall grass
By Aspen Marie 9 months ago in Poets
I recommend you play with clay Malleable and wobbling It may take any form you wish With enough skill and practice Wounded people are living sculptures
Reality no longer required Filters and masks Gladly revise uniqueness Into pigeon-hole ideals My work is no longer complete
Every morning Bashir patrols our yard For his morning constitution His tuxedo sidekick, an amusing guard Unique in her locution
Real rain is falling now The first sheer curtain Of the season Though greenery is vibrant Earth is already parched Her tongue panting for
Self-serving bias Drives our motivations Do I believe I have improved Am I smarter than others More talented Assume good things will happen to me
The mothers I know and love Have reworked their past selves Into new models Handy mechanics with a wrench No time on their calloused hands
Sparse neural coding offers this Each neuron connected in small clusters Limitless possibilities of patterns Combine into memories and knowledge
Fire burns, as we all know Saturday night ignites Soul music flames That lick undulating hips In figure eights A righteous dance party in the kitchen
Wren loves this tidbit of knowledge His mirth when he shared it with me Uproarious Cackling with glee, he said “One day humans will evolve
Violet night unfurls As a storm builds in intensity On a farmhouse in remote rural Southern Saskatchewan The land is so flat
Dappling The space between Is where I exist Even a stunted tree Reaches for the light So says my favourite author
