for vika wendish

this old chunk of coal
clay oceans under stolen water blue
you've never seen the dawn like this before
more things we see should be named for the hue
but then again
you barely know your skin forget the core

clip the stem
branch out
branch out
or band together

the life of
paper tigers in a bowl
the last lie
pied pipers ever told
you pass time
with glass rhymes that don't and won't  grow old
life's a lake of dreams that never sold
and the feels of finding nothing
by the last line of a poem