Once I had a garden,
built to spite my constant gloom.
I planted hope and happiness,
those seeds will never bloom.
I had hoped that all the rain,
would see the ground be rich.
But it seems my little cloud
has only proven to restrict.
Now within my garden,
but one lonely flower grows.
The oddest rose I've ever seen,
with petals made of bones.

A pastel blue backdrop
behind three glass frames
not a cloud in the sky
not a plane flying by

Yet I cannot learn to love
the sky without the trails
smoky puffs of vapour
line a day with uncertainty

For a blue sky is bland
without the odd trace
of imperfection, even
birds in formation become
the aforementioned.

"I can't stand to sing
the same song the same way
two nights in succession"
Routine it seems is its
own imperfection.

Give me a grey sky in June
And thunder in peace
A stark croaking crow
Can be sheer bliss

All things aligned,
Excitements amiss
For the brain needs
A puzzle, a challenge...

Confrontation, **** your
Hollywood films and
Normalisation, your
predictable habits

And false gestation;

Astro-Turf fields
And palm tree islands,
Man-made beaches
And glacier skylines

Synthetic audio
and bastardisation
of the arts, your
contempt for nature

Shall be your Achilles
for the world we live in,
the forests and canopy's
are the very providers

Of human abilities,
rid us of them and face
extinction, this is the
nature of colonisation.

The earth which houses us
is not formulaic, It's a collision
of astronomic proportions
every detail as vital as another

Mankind can be primal, Oedipal
and graceless, but respecting your
home is not an optional gift, for
we cannot survive as a species adrift.

Plastic tents,
these ******* beeps
and maddening
******* sounds.
Dear Lord,
I want to go home...
but I left my legs
in the desert,
somewhere
near where
the pink-mist
engulfed me.