in the aloe
accosted by the ragweed
in congruence with,
cackle and blandness of your bird songs.
I’ve overcome the seeds of hate
but where were they?
what lies were in the basalts of my generalities?
if a canker sore fills the bowels of sanguine hurts,
why do I speak?
if a question answers its intent with flaccid way
why do I doubt?
perhaps I’m too adorned in the sunlight.
branded and perched,
residing with aloe;
is my heart;
for you are far from the streams.