Writing like it might matter,
not sure if it ever will,
but I’m liking the patterns,

emo’s composed in prose,
everything is real,
hug from a bear kiss from a rose,

forget the reference if you don’t already get it,
just don’t forget to remember to feel,
on the stage of life everyone’s a critic,

way past the line of scrimmage,
no gimmicks it’s all real in the field,
can I get a witness to this existence,

it’s ambition mixed with persistence,
if the pen is a sword then what is the shield,
could I please get some assistance,

people sticking their nose in where they have no business,
please let’s all take a moment to yield,
life is too short and time is only an instant,

a moment can’t hold it I think I’m slippin’,
trippin’ not fallin’ blessed with omens & skills,
equipped with an awesome equilibrium & instincts,

every thing’s mixing every one’s trippin’,
releasing toxins & catching feels,
publishing photos of self that come with clever captions,

producing pieces of prose as a thesis composed of our existence,
which seems to lead to an honest way to heal,
or is at least self perceived to be something that’s significant,

though in most instants it feels like nothing matters,
a fever & chills sets in as all intentions are revealed,
silly human there’s only now no before nor after,

writing like it might matter,
not sure if it ever will,
but I’m liking the patterns,

emo’s composed in prose,
everything is real,
hug from a bear kiss from a rose…

∆ LaLux ∆

SF
2019

The little bird watched as His mother ate the magic berries
seen the bright in her beak, the shine in her wings and her frost colored feathers.
A force through her frame, Wild and beautifully un-tame.
“Mother may I have some berries?” Said the little bird
the mother turned alarmed, as If the little bird was harmed and hastened to say
“You may never eat the berries, not from this tree. These are for the big birds like Your dad and me”
The little bird heard and understood “This is for big birds like you”

The mother gathered up the berries and holding them in mouth the two began to fly.
The mother's wings spanned spaciously, taking in strong current, revolving in a torrent of play with her son.
These moments occurred from day to day with inconsistent frequency.  
Treasures of the sky folk.
As the son flew higher than ever before the mother begun to shout  
“Down son, down son. Not so close to the yellow ball Or you will fall”
Seeing the worries in the mothers face the son begun to descend
The son had heard and understood, they continued on in a lesser mood.

The son knew that today they seek father, high in his metal tower.
Locked behind bars.
They descended upon the tower and lay to rest on the ledge by its side.
The Son went to speak but was interrupted
The look at Father, he was a washed out grey, wore out wings and feathers.
“Do you have the berries” He said
The mother bird nodded and opened her beak placing it on his
The son knew this was a love kiss.
The wild force raced through his father but it didn’t seem like enough
the mother and father begun to slumber.
The son was resting warm in the light.


When the son awakened his parents were still asleep,
he noticed the un-natural arch of their feet? the stink of rotting meat!
the light had gone from the two.
The son was frantic and searched around looking for the magic berries
finding two he gave his parents one each and closed their mouths waiting for the light
but neither made a move.
A third berry he found and ate it himself.
He begun to fly, thoughtless, joyful, overwhelmed with love.