sorry this not that poem

raised block flower & plant bed.
peonies, gardenias, poinsettias
plus a yellow orb slow rising
over an endless golden scape—

darting through uncluttered space
cardinals, thrashes, sparrows
blue air fragrant with lavender
washing brain matter into virtue.

if only i could pastel alphabets
onto a canvas of thistledown
yes, deceit comes to mind—
.a lie. traitor. turncoat. recreant

backstabber here i would be
gut shanked a million times.
this is not that poem nor am i
that poet to hold your hand

.or. erase knothole screams
blood on a cement floor .or.
suicide is another form of escape
no-no-no—yes-i-do promise

the evil-ugly humans inflict
on each other to their [selves]
how time is malice is death
inflaming pupils with spite

inextinguishable if set free—
forgive state poet #289-128
for not scribbling illusions
of trickery as if timeless hell

could be captured by stanzas
alliteration or slant rhyme—