Flower Man sitting proudly on a seat in time, with a thought churning butter, on the fringe of my eye. laughing pores spread across my smooth head, transform silken hair to sprouting colored flowers, passers-by bear spiraling eyes and cry with joy... ...as flower man rounds the block, his rainbow head chiming, Mr. Sun bows with love, turning sad fathers rusted face to bronze with the sweep of a hand, shine swinging smoothly open towards the cheering crowds now fused into one whirling mind… …as flower man, with strength renewed, smoothly scales the old flag pole, buddha looking down and straight to the still cheering crowd, and like a mime, speaks nothing but a silent tremble, tickling the peoples spines, as they laugh, and they cling, a slow gyration on invisible swings, they are lost his work done, flower man slides effortlessly down the old flag pole, and as his feet hit the ground, he slowly melts into a puddle, the crowd jumping from their swings, splashing gaily in his wake, virgin souls alive, new beating hearts, neatly woven from the hand of flower man.
Reason for writing:
AAAhhhhh,,,, duhhhhhhh.... roof roof bark bark
Birth sign: Not entered
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