(Photo: by Ohara Koson (1877-1945). Original from The Rijksmuseum)
May 16, 2019
The grey irritates.
Thus, burning into rogue black.
And rolls forever.
Green for the moment.
Tomorrow, blows the heat dry.
Creative minds thrive.
What’s coming? A fair?
Peeps to cheer. Drinks everywhere.
The Sunshine is fair.
He farts next to me.
No remorse for the breathe’s sake.
For vibrations wake.
Warm from the foreign.
Land where some ponder thunder.
Think order, now breeze through.
He lives a great life.
Where can they fight peacefully?
In cold rain, pours seek.
Kiln the bread at dusk.
Owls to blame, though they breathe it.
Candor picks fate better.
The rain fell, for why?
Thus it does, he whom tell lies.
A path for streaming cries.
Time says it all well.
The wind for two, disputes fair.
Acts as though he care.
Now my peripheral.
Lives to say where the road run.
Writing rules for fun.
What the maybe is.
He befriends a beauty’s eye lid.
Take my air away.
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