The sound of flowers shrinking

Popsicle poetry
I have no stomach
For a scorched earth policy

Letting the air out.
Texting in bed

Skating party limbo
The next day and the next

The emptiness never
Bothered me.

A feeling of something
Is pushing

Calf pain
A throwing up of hands
A conversation with myself
What I mean

Perhaps it’s time
to take down
The Christmas lights


Speaking in code
The sound of flowers shrinking
These squirrels are fearless
Long walks

Lazy poets