Transitions

His pavement colored rant dripped with indifference,
While his vicarious mother played with his heart.
And their emerald forest exploded with envy.
Its mediocre performance connected well
with the executive community that spits
upon ingenious roots that copulate to reproduce.

“If sinister insincerity is the fruit of relaxation
then I will indulge in the Apple.
A hint of that golden aroma will cost me dear.”

So they sit and preach:
Inhale that change with pride.
Let it sizzle and pierce your radio.
Throw that stone into the sea
and ponder where it lands.
Your blind days will be overwhelmed.
You will hear the music.