(The winter stands as sincere
The summer only implies
Autumn refuses to interfere
And the springtime simply never tries.)
An archer in an orchard shoots
At the bows the branches and the roots
To collect unseen insects
But instead eats the roots
A hundred hunters in a row
Huddled hugging guns and bows
All take aim at the same game
And miss when they let go
Dramatic direction, who knew I’m in a mid-skid
Intended infections, I’m out. I’m in a mid-skid
Demonstrative postures, too true I’m in a mid-skid
As sharp as a bottle, no doubt I’m in a mid-skid
I know we both said this before
So I’m sorry but, “I know the score.”
Me meandering, you cute pandering
And fission of the core
It’d be best if you forgot
All your useless caveats
Do they mean anything,
Anything at all?
Impassioned impassive, at an impasse in a mid-skid
Impressions in fractions, the impact of a mid-skid
Obsessive, responsive, at zero in a mid-skid
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