Bully
He bathes in barrels of holy water;
He thinks what he can he oughta;
While believing there’s a special saint, what the saint blesses, he ain’t;
In private he wears a druid’s gown;
In public he spams believers with a putty smile.
In The Garden
Felled autumn leaves On wet ground For rot to work With welcoming soil Whilst winds blow Bringing the rain into it Tempting wiggle worms Which will reap The good nutrients left And give dark soil A velvet feel A rich man’s smell. For in the gardener Awakens a worker Keen to sow: And mature seed Will rise in bloom And stringed birds Serenade boon botany In la primavera All that is decomposing Rotting leaves Their yellow is gold Their black is carbon They’ve left behind Standing skeletons For kids to climb For sunshine to reveal What secret habits Autumns leave.
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