Mon Vert

What a scene. What a memory. The threat of rain Against  The Radiant green fields of weed Such mystic such blues Ripe Not because Wheats have become golden But it is a familiar scene In a different season And although it has not rained Just yet There are eyes Quietly waiting Roaming the streets For some kind  Of answer Wheels  as they roll Down the dirt We hope for a little  Inconvenience on the way a wet bag A dripping umbrella Hung hairs that we look upon the sky  With scorn glares That it has not stopped us at all I hope so  It is that way I hope someone Is like that way.

  I am distracted While it feels worthwhile There is a large void inside My heart that irks me Because what could it Be The future is the past The past is the present  Everything works Just how it had always been That I get away With everything From everything Just as how everything Is beyond me All is simply alive Outside the window Something is existing But I simply could not care.

definite or Indefinite Will it stay this way I look around No one notices the rain The heat is tolerated Everything inbetween  Is forgotten The leaves fall down in seasons Of our indifference we are indifferent As always It has been Always  This way I am hoping  For a glimpse  I fear the future has  Nothing.

I don't like uncertainty Be sure with me Take me piece by piece Take me whole There is nothing wrong  You can ask me again and again And when you have nothing I will let you know about you and me With what I have kept  And the traces of everything Will be as clear as day When we can see clearly Underneath the waters And The breeze that bristles Through me I will be there And I will push your hair away Because  everything you are  is delightful I will never pry my eyes Off yours.

the light is dim And a terrible headache is coming The heart is cold Feverish This room is expectedly quiet everything outside  Is loud Everything is  A blur But It is hard to grasp  This special nothing Like the feeling of being alone  It bores a hole Inside the body It ruins the mind It numbs the pain So That  It cannot be solved Momentarily You are comforted by Whatever advantage you have Yet It lingers the bitterness The incomprehensible  Feeling of  Being lost Drifting Away And there is simply no one Who could ever notice.

somehow she didn't  Quite understand Life is a fantasy And I am quietly waiting.

  In the moment Where comfort  Is the  shoes  I'm walking in I am staring at myself walking Down a lane I am thinking Am I walking right People who pass me by  Are they seeing me smile Was I laughing right I am outside myself As I answer Questions Small Words  That seem to occupy most of  My days One by one  They all start to sound the same And the edges Where I used to find Distance A terror Becomes a soft Assurance That I can take myself away Very far from this place.

 Literal as I go Lukewarm As birds sit  Perched on electric lines I laugh at my mistakes As if I'm one  With them Stumbling Drunk I dream lifting my hands  Up Running in circles (loneliness is a crime) As cars pass by me Pass by the soju bottle The white lines  Are no longer straight And the skin Is lukewarm Do I have to hold my arms close  I start mumbling to myself Talk of the wind  The clips of hair Between the branches (Art is a crime) Fictional  The bus is no longer Waving at me  Bye Goodbye! I confess I confess alot because there is great loneliness That follows All round I've missed it Painting good lies Yellow lights Parks  that meant more  In the dream Dreamt next to me Everything can be bought Everyone noticed Everything easy is bought  everything bought Is easy easy so am I.

In the drop of our breaths Something has eased between us clarity  in our minds There is a difference  That mildly sets us apart Convincingly  You were  You told me peace  was a chance.

  A cat came in my door Once Curious As its paws made way To questions  I never asked myself before "Why is your room messy?" It asks "Why is this blocking your door?" "Why is this wet?" Maybe because I let it in That only then I understood Its indulgence Or my lack thereof To be tempted to answer But I let it in Slowly revealing that my light Is rougher Compared to  To its black coat Aster  As the void in my heart I pet it Stroke the smooth shine Out of its fur I bring it dust The grime of the world Out of jealousy  Out of spite  I hoist it near me Brought it to my lap As its eyes blinked in skips of emerald As its ears drooped Relaxed To drowsiness To slumber As it slept with me In my grime Then away it went Like smoke it wandered off  Knocking on my door  Just like when we first met Asking for exit From another That I never saw it again Or if I did Maybe it all was just smoke that lingered A little longer.

Love may never Have been born  The way  The sun adored  Your face Its kind  tickle of notes Perhaps it is expressing when it touches you As it asks for the redness of your cheeks The dimpling  That speaks the ripeness The flesh of the flesh stubbornly hiding In your words that swarm the  days in my dream As my heart dances to the tune Inside my head the words are flowing In gushing waters Nearly past my ankle Soft and boyishly present In innocent tenses I seem to wonder More how can those eyes Ever bear tears It holds much more Than life.

  the rough touches the dark The split  When I close my eyes The thunderous clouds Seem to clear Isn't it something Isn't it just right As it is imperfect The room of which genius Becomes a cracked piece of glass Edges that could cut into paper hearts scattered to bland varnished floorboards if magic permits Our eyes might meet  Between the cracks it doesn't hurt that way little is more little is a place to be that we may see the sun  Behind the hill.