I was a sacrificial lamb
for the taste of religion...

People have picked me up
from a dusty shelf...

Tapping out syllabic rituals
crossing words that mix and match...

Painted spirit shines
a colossal rhapsody...

Colors scatter down Lansing street
like a box of crayons; drowning in a gutter...

There is an intersection
within my imagination...

Blushing memories,
Flushed cheeks...

She wore red galoshes,
as rain drops became her...

She dances with demons,
as the scissors cut slow...ly...

She overseas her seedlings
gazing silently, as mothers do...

Scattered dandelions graze
alley cracks daily...

Emerald leaves shimmer
beneath golden rays of light...