I don’t know.
I don’t know why or when or where or what
Or how or who or and or but.
I play and live and learn and stuff.
It’s mostly loads of toads and fluff.
Folks focus on the wrongest things
And say that I should too.
I don’t know.
Do you?
I say we go
Not knowing nothing more than
We’re together,
The end.

When I play at fireman
I take it very serious,
Because you know a fire can
Flame up fairly furious.

“I’ll save you all!”
Went my fiery cry
As I put out the lights in the hall
And every other twinkling that even thought to fry.

“I went a little overboard,”
Is a phrase I’ll never say.
I wield my waggish water sword
Like there’s a dragon in my way.

“Safety first, second and third!”
I sprayed down phones and the TV,
Then saw how their eyes burned
And rained down on them the sea.

With one more fire extinguished
They’d had all the saving they could take,
And gave me an honor most distinguished –
They threw me in the lake.

Most people put
The world ‘neath their foot
Without another thought.

But Plumlo would not
Let himself get caught
Not caring ’bout all that land lost.

Such a terrible cost
To be so sadly self-tossed
Out of the world at your feet.

A horrid defeat
To never once meet
Most of all that there is.

Young Plumlo saw his
Whole world as a quiz
On how to win his way in.

He dreamed of a cave in,
To go full mole-raven,
Winging his way through stone skies.

You’re not surprised
He pried into his prize
By way of his will and a spoon.

He still peeks at the moon
But he’d be a loon
To bury world back underfoot.

And out the door she went
To find her way to what that meant,
No looking back ‘cept glancing at
Wig wagging tail that gave the hint
That all was right, life right well spent,
Knocking on and down all doors they sent
To put her looking out instead of in,
She unlocked herself to their lament,
And opened up in all events,
Letting through another marveled malcontent

– A moment for her wonderment! –

And out the door she went

They said, “My dear, you’re the greatest!”
They said, “My word, how I hate this!”
The same ones said, “Make it blue!”
And, “Should have used a peachy hue!”
And, “We never said! Untrue! Untrue!”
They said and said and said and said. And said.
Then there was the Qwause with his glass head
Who let you see his thoughts instead
Of guessing at the buried roots
Of all this saying whatever suits
Ourselves, but truthfully pollutes.
From the brain to the lips
There are lots of little blips,
Those meant and slips and trips.
The glass head of the Qwause offered a dominion
Of untouched, honest opinion.
(Now, there’s a marvelous debate
On whether what others think creates
A help or hindrance to our finer fates.
Goodness knows, I feel few greater hates.)
When you went to the Qwause, you got what he thought,
Not what you wanted, not what you ought,
And some can handle honesty, some cannot.
One day one came with a question but also brought
The honored answer that they sought.
The glass head of the Qwause lit up white hot
With an answer honest but unloved
And found himself in free fall before knowing he was shoved.
His head stayed true to glass and shattered,
Every bit of honesty scattered,
Honesty sadly never since seen,
With one push gone to smithereens.
But that sort of honesty is hard to discard.
A lucky few found themselves Qwause glass shards
And made them into lamps that guard
The way for the honesty starved.

At midnight the day bends back to look
At all the pluck, luck and gobbledygook
That took place and that place took.

That moment then ‘tween day and day
Allows an all-seeing replay
Before the next one comes our way.

From crawling clouds to thunderous ants,
Was that day good? Don’t know, not a chance,
But we all get a loving glance.

Also read about Foxes, Birds, Snails, Owls and Bees.

Raspberry Vulture
Actually fond of kiwis. A common misconception. Rotten kiwis though. Brown and fuzzy on the inside too.

Tulip Vulture
Builds its nest out of newly bloomed tulips. Its fortune follows that of the flower. The tulip craze of the early 1600s was the golden age for these birds. Their feathers are the shape of the tulip flower petals and they take on the colors of whatever their nest is made of so they may be difficult to discern in the nest. But the nest should be easy to spot and quite pretty.

Glacier Vulture
Lays frozen eggs that are a gorgeous glacier blue with red flecks. When the eggs thaw, they hatch. Can remain frozen and unhatched for millennia. The chicks are born a very light blue color but as they grow they take on the darker blue of the glacier root that dives into the deep waters of the ocean.

Charcoal Vulture
While never seen on a pleasant day, they swarm wildfires, building their nests in the still warm, smoking branches of newly crisped trees. If you ever make a horrible mistake while playing with matches at least be sure to enjoy the presence of this unique wildlife.

Tiktik Vulture
Scavenges wasted time. You’ll never see one that’s skinny. To be honest, I feed them a lot. They should build a statue of me or at least put up a plaque. Name a nest after me?

Muffin Vulture
Full of blueberries. All buttery with a crumble topping. Might just be a muffin. I’m so hungry.

Violin Vulture
Feeds on violin spiders: black widows, brown recluses, taupe misanthropes, etc. Has no musical talent whatsoever, detesting string instruments. However, it will bang around on a drum set if it finds one in your garage while on the hunt. The spider venom is absorbed and stored on the top of their bald head. Do not pet!

Despair Vulture
They scavenge despair. While they are truly hideous looking beasts with multiple cruelly curved beaks tearing their way out of their eyeless heads, we are lucky to have them. They have the most acidic stomach acid of any known creature, allowing them to process the anguish that many people can’t. They don’t care about you or your happiness but could save your life. Rejoice in them.

Drawn by Moon whose art can be found at @practise_for_art on Instagram.

At the center of Truth is you.
If you get out your rut —
That’s all you gotta do.

I’m not afraid of ghosts.
I fear when ghosts have gone
And left me with a host
Of the Living living wrong.

Ghosts are airy secrets.
People have the gall
To leak like creaky crickets,
Shrieking, “Yes! I know it all!”

They scare away the ghosts
Who hold a piercing peaceful piece
That could save us all at most
Or be interesting at least.

Ghosts are us in other form,
Such a shame to be afraid
Of a wondrous thunderstorm
When lightning is your trade.

Life is empty without ghosts,
I find it dearly wanting,
Indeed it is my innermost
Desire for a haunting.