By Ethan Hoyt
(1st Week)
Tell me why death wrought with the form of stamped love won’t unflow this world’s water and wind?
It informs me it does. Coercively thumping, humming within me what natively will not.
I expect it can’t physically grace us our flowers, but am I not allowed to wander mindlessly on each grass’ diluting dew.
I tickled so madly for deshapen pinks, blue now shrieking, and red, green here and there, a little yellow just for fun, violet punching my gardened pile of sticks a muddled black.
Still the world keeps on spinning around—And it’s some sortlessly silly notion of mine pricking me gallantly that those words in that order simply make this farce loud and frown of petty.
Do I feel that in-suit the loss of my nanny—the birdhouse feeder kept not by me, the dream catchers I came to know and for granted, figures I made of glue and popsicle sticks she made… made, taken too.
Show me how wrought with such memories—colorfully stained popsicle sticks in a pile ready to be weld in new form and entirety as it were then.
It doesn’t grace us our flowers, but still discreetly and budding, a pinecone—which never moved from her month before… seeps unto my blooming tomb—in front a great tree ent webbing a face of my nanny catching with me Colors of the Wind in dreams I never untaught.
(3rd week)
“Is it though?” punctuated Judas, “No amounting of words stacked with another few, ever seem to share, an unsplintered belief for any other man but himself, that he himself does constricts, constrict. Why can’t I find love.”
“Yet you seem as unshifty as a thick rooted tree… at least than any tree I’ve ever seen.” snooted Rudy Moss—himself so stiff, seems he might burst a button or two. “forgo your manly-hood at your own expense, but don’t come uprooting my peace, newly meddling with rhymes.
“Well ask yourself! Really ask yourself, what isn’t… might be? If it is then it has nothing more to give, it’s as plain and simple as that, I don’t get if I’m barking up the wrong tree Rudy, should I find some other reason, some new leaf turned enlightening. Then I shall hang up my coat, and give everything no more of a go!”
“Say no more. Please say less. This means nothing, you mean little to me, I don’t have time for winding quarrels, your gripes, or your morals, stick to the basics lad, and try the shade. You need to catch a break—Just take a moment slow, you’ll find the breeze is nice when you’re riding solo. It is what it is kid…” as he peaks his eyes right, to side-eye and find a floating alien man, he takes a moment, peers back forward again, breathing with the wind, as Rudy takes a sigh and attempts to turn a blind eye… to what is it is, it is what it is.