Saskies’re out.
Remain poor,
At flowery poetry –
Like the Romantics.
Coleridge can go to hell!
I’m returning to the void.
Samsara be damned.
So in poor imitation:
“Pink flowers in bloom –
Slightly sweet between teeth.
Dandelions,
Interwoven with Daisies,
Purple flowers.
Green.
Lush.
Hungry.”
Whoops.
Saskies’re Out.
