butterflies and budgerigar\'s.
it matters not on sympathetic wings.
the single lives as heaven sings
bubonic plague on the armpits of the sun;
no time for eucalyptus
nor the swelling of the brain
it came alone, uncensored, primitive.
every life. simple. as it is.
give away your core.
it is the apple with no eyes I cannot take.
nor can I stand the suicidal eyes of genocide.
all women pale in stages of reprieve.
I will take no leave of absence
now the buttercups are dry.
was the canvas ripe as orange peel
or did you feel the crimson of our king?
is the world a better place now we are dead?
let it be said
it has always left me wanting
when all the birds came down
and hid their shame.
prove whatever doubt I cannot show.
I am no bronze of bird, but what of that?
I am no acrobat.
let me beggar be
and die the second time of asking
busy as a bee \'neath a surgeon at the end of life.
let light be mine.
let my final place of rest when you are gone.
you are the ghost who wore no sandals on each foot.
and I am ghost of nothing.
I am no acrobat.