A lock of hair and we row, it's early October, I like how the soft sun reflects on the emerald-earthen water of Lake Sidney Lanier. I have the valor of bronze soldiers on a bus, a silvering world of all beauty.
I am mistreated but loved like gold.
Mend my heart, my beehive of a mind, please, before the cold dust of winter frosting, the air is alive with pine needle tea and lemongrass, the leaves are changing colors and some are even falling like plane debris in war, a red bishop moves on the marble chess board.
I'm sitting on a park bench alone, a curious but regal squirrel is all hunched up and zooming around, he seems friendless, his stomach is white, the broken bricks of an old coin fountain, sea-green fuzzy slippers, people stare and I stare back like a corpse in a morgue, a dead body in a freezer, a blank sadness, a grim reality, some people do not deserve their beauty and others are painful to look at.