nonsense, no

This time, I stay close to what I find standing.

I identify the fireflies, but admire more the cereal.

After the soil, the roots,

intricate strings

pulling through and collecting.

Once upon a year ago or so, I thought of writing candidly about my experiences,

so that those I barely speak to could have a sense of what I'm doing.

The terribly habit of ambiguity is at home in my poetry, and sometimes

I don't even know where these bags of images come from, that show

up on my mind's front porch.

I wrestle my weak descriptions so often, down in the grass,

all of us wet with rain or dew.

The verbs on top, than I am, till an adjective kicks me in the back

of my knee, and the adverbs all snicker.

Nouns crowd me all day long:

cows, cups, fissures and flowers.

So, apologies for the river water I've offered

in lieu of lemonade.

I'll go back to school soon and try to do better.