Bump bump, bump bump
Heartbeat there under the floor
Bump bump, bump bump
Heartbeat there, right by the door
Bump bump, bump bump
Heartbeat there, where nobody cares
Bump bump, bump bump
Heartbeat there, beat there
Bump bump, bump bump slower
Slower, slower beat so slow
Bump     bump     bump      bump
Heartbeat  there, please care
Bump                     bump
Heartbeat
Bump
.

But you are more important than me.

I began writing of thee, 63  
but after considerable effort and time
belched out only glib rhyme  

when I recalled my last walk,
however, it was in winter woods, only yesterday,
the frozen ground crunched under my ancient boots,
speaking to me in its own verse  

“move fast,
this white art won’t last,
make your tracks deep, soon
we’ll not make a peep”    

so I complied,
stomping on the frigid frost
shuffling with aging caution on thick ice  
watching my breath mist gray
the still air  

was such the entire walk
one foot after another, making tracks
lesser numbered beasts would sniff and see…  
fading remnants of the me    

then I saw you, crystalline knives  
hanging from brittle branches long ago grayed  
reflecting all that came within your sight  
in your solid time, dripping drops slowly,
silently, before freezing once again
in the approaching night

Dripping off petals
Of silky soft red
Standing tall and strong
In an earthen bed

Running down the stem
Covered in knives
Off of one bush
Comes many more lives

Each small red gem
Silently sleeping
The dew running down
As if silently weeping

Mist hangs in the air
The white breath of the earth
While calm and peaceful
Also seems to drain the mirth

The tight weeping bud
Awakens to dawn
Stretching its petals
At the birds morning song

Sunlight rains down
On the silky red flower
The energy to live
That it does devour

an evil man lures with blissful plans
and then taketh away with rejecting hands

Love
Amour
Liebe
Amor
àiqíng
Ngoi
Amore
Hubb
Amor
Diligite
I just said, I hope, the word for love in 10 different lanuages.
If that doesn't send a global message I don't know what will.

There is something breeding in the underbelly;
whirling and churning like an epicenter of ******* trends.
Someone found the formula to turn a profit on karma,
while we were distracted by viral beheadings.
Powder white moths opening mental portals
through the dazzling lights of self-immolation
while I trudge block after block through the snow
wearing slippers because I had to storm out.
The classes continue, the mail keeps going out, coming in,
and I'm obsessing over a splinter of worry; unavailing at best.
I keep thinking of how nice it'd be to see Seattle  
and to stand near one of those Sequoia trees I've only seen on Google.
I keep thinking of how I'd like to see The Grand Canyon
and to to walk in the Arizona deserts with no socks or shoes;
the heat of the fine sand sneaking up between my toes
while the sky beats my pupils with that astounding blue.
Why am always alone in my fantasies?
Why is it that I can't handle the day-to-day?
Am I really even searching for answers,
or am I begging for what I want to hear?
My maturity and stoicity are rubber ***** bouncing on a line graph.
I can't go on bottling the venom that pools in my gut.

Her love was a seamless desire to love and be loved,It loved her hips and thighs but it also loved the men it attracted.