Dark

Dark is the morning,
the morning I wake
wrapped with wet roses
that hold and then break.
They water my feet
and plant by the lake
my toes and my soul;
tie my heart to this stake!

And voices in tongues inner darkness denies
approve on the dark rolling plains in the sky.

Why I Write

Life is potatoes, and I like it spicy;
Words are like herbs,
Creative and dicey.

You say potato, and I say dill.
I'm making meaning
By words and by will,

But that doesn't mean I just do whatever
'Cause chocolate and 'taters
Is a hopeless endeavor.