there is just no punctuation
there is just no punctuation
pink hair and ponytails
showstopping
multi-braided street style
eyepopping
colors spring forward
cheeky and free
on voluminous pants
and cropped jackets
coming vernal blues wash over me
hear the big band sound
sweet and warm
under the iron lady
with fever in our hearts
we trade barbs on ethical fashion
hands pull me around
tie me up in passion
to the piano keys in the back
of my head
a beautiful tactile mess
survives this allegro
scarf sweeping updo
french twist secure curves
in the Caravelle
axis tilt cat eyes
and nude lips
the night burns on roundabouts
circles into the city of light and love
locks enduring equinox
of spring unknowns
coming from the darkest winter
hardened in the countryside
dauphine bows barrettes
and snowflakes cut the air
that roused the hungry wolves
in a chase for chamois or wild boar
ladybugs stir from hibernation
planetrees lindens and cherry
burst with new life as blossoms blow
on the Champ-de-Mars
yapping birds in the pagoda
do protest the frozen ground
in the rising equality of light
inch by inch the season begins
Pachelbel shakes the stained glass
where all of mine once stood
witty spirits' hopes persist
waiting for emancipation from time
click but do not rhyme
loads of textiles trashed
fibers end up in our oceans
toxic dyes wastewater
exploited workers
at the end of the trip sadness
with chocolates at Nuit de Muses
and a warm stroll
eleven hours and thirty minutes
is the flight time to California from Paris
that gives time to think
to clear the head
reminisce on the decay of lying
looking for an exit strategy
long legs in the afternoon
horses at midnight without a moon
grab a double green smoothie
observing an unkindness and a cloud
swooping in the goth blackness
crossing her majesty between storms
the ravens are in a bee swarm
extrapolation of the logarithmic curve
yielded the estimate
years of following the trend
groomed big curls or finger pin waves
we stand under Warhol’s flowers
balancing perfectly imperfect
moto-inspired and clinched
racing past the first day of spring
the dreaming in turbulence
we imagine the child’s future
watching parallel streets become wind tunnels
rivers in the sky flood crops and trees topple
species after species disappear
but for now the male western bluebirds
are showcasing their breeding colors
fluttering birds on the runway
but they are already in the fall
our arrogance has no season
gasping for air in a garden of lungs
the vernal freshness of the land
we live in is an illusion of the vastness
where past present and future exist at once
no separation for a comma in the list
everything gaming zero punctuation
