have resolved to salivate
On your favourite salad dressing,
Or your dear held principles,
Who run ahead of their respective schools.
My form is that of a butterfly frozen in mid air,
En route to the jungles, Thawed by escapism,
Nourished by self preservation.
My stride is that of a guitar string
In the hands of a drunk gypsy courting a fair lady,
Making love with the ascending and descending
Frequencies of the heart.
Time is the father of existence,
Rhyme is the brother of the word,
Words that define the world,
Worlds that refine my words.
Natural water no longer exist,
We must now create what was initially abundant,
And destroy that which took its abundance away.
Is the garden clear for the new plants?
Is the soil still rich enough to support life?
My fears are shadows behind the edge of dark buildings,
The howls in the night.