Youth's fair and fine leaves
Ride with the wind, as the bus
Trudges long its course...
Poems plucked from children,
Posted above riders' heads
To read and digest...
Spaghetti roads or
Spaghetti hair? Images
Of tangled skeins there.
Little do I know
From what branch I pick these lines -
Life's veins intertwined...
Thin delicate rib
Of a moon, or fingernail,
Or bowl in the sky?
Colorful reward,
To gorge, on poetry bus,
With nine rhymes, not one -
To be distracted
From a dull, brown life, riding
Round the town, head down,
Looking at the phone,
At senseless memes, in long lines -
Shadows of poems, See?
Let me look at leaves,
Left in the loft of the lift,
'less I leave, listless.
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