I don’t know how to poem, but I know how to grow flowers.

Each time I try, the words stop and stutter
Trying to figure out the rhyme in my cocoon
I think of a scene, slather the thoughts with butter
The beauty and synthetic break of solitude.

I think of math, count the words
Pushing through paper matured
Exploration avant-garde
Exploitation of the sword

Bring the words
Three, seven, twelve at a time

The tick-tack of the keys, like a piano
Bringing a symphony, shallow arrow
Notes add the music, sound subtracts gallows
Taking one more day from the tomorrow

All I have to do is think
Transform indelible ink
Find the link, rethink, async
Bite numbers, a data link.

But something interrupts the pattern,

Rattles the flowers budding in the garden,
Inflorescence, a cluster arranged
Morphologically deranged

Petals grow,
Stems flow
Words sing

And garble together
And Lyrical.

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