45*21

May comes, crust and bones
the earth is just a measure of us
hands pulling coarse rope
life has felting behind it
hinged, the window smacked open
clouds are cow pastures too
the giggles erupt, time gets slow
yellow everywhere
one screen is replaced by another
now, looking at green alone
we think of red, dark and thick
not the kind of red that lets the sun in
very very soft music
or we call it that
but it is not made by the human mind
it's the night's fur rubbing together
in unison with half a minds closing
the ego arises like a greeting card
there are no worries
we'll just follow and fluster
in shades of our own making