napowrimo #1

breathe the blue in like water
(waiting for Spring, waiting for the beanstalk)

I am weakened
my kneed needs kneaded with time's slow perpetuity
is it always too much to ask of myself, why?
aye aye aye the lies
windmills spit back my spilt forms
words built with eyes and the norms
surprises and the guises I disguise
what rises inside me as us
the fuss of muss and the glorious vanity
of each of my parades my charades
always start 15 minutes
from being put on any spot  
I wander quick enough
and dress my madness fluffed 
and paint the cows I sell
wading back in each line to hell
with my pitched tines full of memories
pricked and poked dull
the null of pushing and consuming
and willing myself against the rift
when my electrons act as a lemmings gift
guiding all that is dark matter sliding
between the hatters whose lids 
are the same skids as Icarus' melting wings
and what a mule load of sponges sings
plunged deeply drawn
with what water spawns
from its oceans that knew
that soaked soulless mouths grew
and the endless bodies would come crawling
one day upon these tides 
falling grace pieced in tithed sin
fallowing with what gravity writhes in
as sometimes cliffs are steps
just too small 
and those like me
all run rabbits learning
to catch the Sun's blind turning
where we might see
ourselves seeding little wishes
having already
swum with the chum
where once we were fishes