In replacement of blue candy there's a sunrise on the hill.
My fingers drip with golden honey,
sugar plums cloud my melancholy thoughts ...
On my lips,
words of sugar and cinnamon blossom
as I sit cross-legged
in the raucous silence of the moment.
Yet while the quiet sings to me,
I despise its saccharine temper.
It seems to bellow with cruel lemon drops
though its voice is soft as down feathers
and my hands, unable to close my ears, are stuck to the grass
by viscid syrup as bitter as lies.
I bend, I break, I fall
and prepare to start anew.
like vegetables from compost.
like the burning and bleeding of the dawn into a fresh sky.
like a freshly picked lemon just cut in half,
making for a picture perfect photo.