All under all of
the places under the
sun which shadows
the darkness are
thunders' blunders.
Striking down and
striking out pins
playing ball.
No one left to
fall this spring yet
worries encourage
large hurrying encores
while floating like
pollen falling from bees.
Now in me,
I wheeze.
Sneezes fly by
as I lie about
how the rain was
walking alongside
me that day,
in the park.
I fall apart but
it lets me
concentrate on
other things.
