The turbulence, of spent days and fostering mental health.
Take their toll…. instead, a delay, in dumping leftovers and cold chicken.
Raw flowers and the excrement of excitable birds and ducks and crows.
Scattered across the landscape of no where to go.
Towards the habitat of growth, first decay, first in line.
It houses this thought, this eureka, on display, today,
Following a passing moth, as if it has the answers...it does
But to you, crazy, to look, chasing the hell of infinite flight.
Those calms, of bursting ways and festering educators.
Take a free pass…. always, a rush, in saving meals and warm carrots.
Over-cooked gardens and feather growth of rotting meat of moose and cow.
Combined inside the small home of everywhere to see.
Away the scene of decay, last growth, last in scattered mess.
It rejects this action, this eureka, hiding, yesterday.
Running from an arcing crow, as if it has the questions...it does not.
But to me, sane, to look away, escape the divinity of macro stillness.