The Power Grid

Somedays come & go,

without pointing to the next,

so,

I huddle down low,

& break at the crest–

 

A waveform of a person

[a being I love]

–To me, is so beautiful,

I shall repeat so for the above.

 

To be so sweet,

all of divine,

blossoms forth from boulders,

& fractals,

as it defines.

 

Oh, Justice!

To come out & play!

For the piper to attend,

then lead us the way.

 

Since millimeters are separating

the conscious connection

we know to be true,

I turn into a deer.

Dear,

I am not blinded by the light,

are you?

 

Golden surfaces,

glazed into 20 moulds,

3 deep lines a plenty–

I count the fingers on my toes.

 

I scribble on the clock of testamented time,

Where I use nonsense

to avoid

writing

a single

emotional line.