I passed continents of frog-spot
Spots. Tops of leaves,
Bottom thieves and
Wrongful heaves by honest grease.
My mind fluctuates with the
Chaos theory of
Shiny things and
Too many images penned
Down below your
Try for skies
And wax-waning times.
I am lines of unruly paragraphs,
Typos and unedited edits
Just to see you squirm within my grasp,
Silence is all I ever was
When you were listening,
Speech was always easier when you weren’t
I to am two much too-quadruple-‘o’
In lines with a lack of cease—seas—
What does it matter…
I am the membrane of reseeding glaciers,
Glacial till, glacial moraine, and a
Braided stream: I swear it wasn’t me.
my intention at least…
I don’t see you
I am glacial till,
Too far off to be seen,
Then not seen when he is.
It was always easier, my
Your passion just seems