Rose Mary's beads bounce
Like marbles on tile.
Rolled under welcome mats
Because maybe they're not like
All of the others.

The sun was so blessed that day
Even the sky had track marks.
The whitest water poured

But no one

Took note: The grass breathes
my air.
We are bound
Binded and fleeting.

But no one

Took note: That there, is a cumulus cloud.

The luminescence the moon
Projectile vomited
Fell lovely over the grass
As the sex sore rats
Called to the owls for help
They responded with a sharp talon
Around the spinal cord.
The rats submitted.
And were gently carried away.

The turpentine aroma
Dishevels the cock roaches
To drown in puddles
Because
That seemed to be
The best thing to do
Being a perfectionist in consolation