The work of mothers
The same birth to time the numbers
Let’s blame earth and skirt tail the summers
The wine nights and the worse wonder
The lit brow to the mixed pile
The hem line falling apart in style
The once in awhiles
To peer through hoops on beaches
To see the loose railing riding reason
We see the people adhering to seasons

The winter coons bundle up with splintered swoons
Diving spoons in stew
Letting menace stew till you peel off into two
And hide under tissues
unsurmountable issues
Let me holler at the moon under bedding brought to you the same way that we gloss through
So cold we have see through bones strewn together with loans paid by our side lined clones

And then we spring when we’re sprung
try to remember the entrance to our lungs
we breathe while we plunge
the gloom sets bloom as we swipe away dust with the thistle broom and whistle a tune
Make haste to our Nepsis laced with taste to our exits
face the behind to our borderlines
our hoarder sty
The same lace we fringe
halfway on a bridge
the two sides to miracles
eyes toward the terroir because the two men fancy merriment
The paved way laid mirrored

We all rise to be steered
the fear from the dew
moonlight shifting on a brand new dune
The summer stints
the way we merge hubris with humorless
the beer stained tutelage
The mood still hits the echelon of chopped and screwed kids
The nude flicks beached with sand castle tassels
the comber picks an apple to sople an ear drum like the syrup off a waffle
we line up for the raffle in our undergarment staples
We find them folded in the worn out shoe box of tapers
We remember the lines to our lovers thighs
To retrace the sanctity and all the encumbrance under mother nature’s blanket weave
The sandals buried in waves up to knee high
We remembered to pack the humble pie
Because the shame became our surprise
We always found where the bottle lied

But then we fall, oh boy do we fall
Tumbling in the leaves trying to breathe out while escaping our pet peeves route
We wish we were taught how to sew back on our sleeves
to prieve upon our lust
To rummage through the rust
The rustle of limbs
And the hustle to fit it all in
A quim reflex with a brim sheepness
Follow the solemn like we just braced for autumn

I’m the bottom like I just qualem the short sighted from the birth righted
We work for the earths title
Try to lay in the imaginary
And pray to the statistics of the obituary
We bit a bit until our flirts are feng shue
And we unberth the hurt foraging for our geomancy
We massage for our paradises atresia
loaming through the creeks for a new season