Tuliped rocks veil the blame to flail
boils for the dried winds of the lizard tail
questioning what's blooming's trustworthy trail.
. Arrows fall on jelly shoulders with no fail
mocking the cherry jam oozing from their snaking sail
that eyes of cracked stalactites out of hurt can't bail.
Stumbling at every curtain window chairs nail
food in the starving heart for a warm hail
to blaze a mourning fountain showering the grave cosmos pale
hunting the bundled feathers of a cruising whale for love's sale.
Hammered shreds of veins mail
a pulse to the protruding punctured violet lips of jail
hanging numeric syllables for the hippopotamus whail
to make the anxious expressions wave frail.
Age's dew mourns another evaporated scale
on the cobblestone of wrinkled palpitations in earth's lail
blasting sounds of repressed agony in the crook of a drowning quail
but that's what flowers mean when they plead seasons to exist; if the spirit's ponytail
had only one strand of hair then love would remain a balcony behind a rail.
Diversity is fluid.