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The time has come to review the year
To click our glasses as the time comes near
The clock slowly ticks away
Causing us to nervously stay
Asking about the twinkling past
Hoping the future to be recast
We toast to future days
Hoping to better our ways
Grasshopper, grasshopper
Bug eyed fiend.
Green and herbivorous
out on a limb.
Your days are numbered,
although you don’t know.
They’ll bag you with round-up
a rake or a hoe!
Out after midnight
with the moon in your eyes.
Do you ever sleep
Is it still time to dine?
Watch out for the mower
the weed wacker and such.
You’ll end up in pieces
And lose your lunch!
She survived the states of her disorder
When most had been destroyed
Rooted in a comfort zone
She weeps but not for herself
Rather those hopelessly gone
To the clutches of familiarity
How could I not love all the seasons
All the years survived
Up the street a piece
I turn a bit and there she is
No longer sad
She is my Icon
Fighting a disease
That fights for her
So easy it would be
To give the parasites submission
Infecting herself to her end
Wiffle balls all blue, orange and
red ride bicycles on children with
blue striped skin tipping flipping juggling by
green square trash cans sinking on piles of
grassy playgrounds dying with
broken branches falling under
false illumination drifting touching slapping
electric fences like two prisons standing.
Wishing well water on hands
skillfully bounce balls while
tossing bodies bestow the
graceful expression of tearing
young crippled trees between here and
there without shade.
Poison ivy wrapped around pillars of white.
To look finds beauty, to touch finds hate.
Redrum, redrum; droplets on the floor.
Ivory skin stained with red; slumped against the door.
Who is she? Unfamiliar.
Is someone missing her? Looking for her?
Is she someone's daughter, mother, lover?
Or just another cover?
Her head left upon a stick, matted tresses dangling.
Loose lips get stitches, to silence wagging tongues.
Prying eyes that cover lies, blinded by the knife.
A tragic end to a meaningless life.
