Each to their own, I would spectate the pluck and plop of a jackalope

for it to unexpectedly wield a hiccup greater than any

foul whipping or lousy thumping.

 

No sleepy bones could be sifted or

stirred in the midst of mildly pious encore,

hidden aloud while onlookers score targets unattainable by the Archer himself,

a fuss merely flattered by velveteen dreams

 

Immersed in delight

A serenade of seedlings usher

a sudden swarm of travelers, they arrive uninvited but welcome;

 

“I’m not trying to develop feelings beyond my own premonition, except it must feel right to hold

onto that love if it was there even before my own recognition…”

 

We listened tentatively (us girls),

drawn to the convincing bravado

Until it faded into the shattering silence of nightfall,

 

Fury teased itself throughout them stories —

them stories revealed to be less about him and became about all of us girls,

He fulfilled a pervasive role nudged onto gawking men,

a guy that staves off his duties with ease and white lies;

 

Quiet shortly rested upon me, I now kneel

lonesome with in sight,

floating in bursts among a wistful sort of mist

following the moon’s exhale

 

Staring away the methodical mythos of space

it composed the backdrop for conquering tonight’s spiritual dilemma;

 

Alas, only in a rampant fantasy would a crowd oblige to meet a crestfallen me,

If only it instead were for a moonless autumn or angelic kingdom

where tilted stepping stones blazed upon a propagation through limbo and vacancy.