There Is Beauty Here

Come walk with me in this wind littered park, please don't kick the skimpy rose bushes, God is everywhere watching, lipreading your foul words. We can be romantically attached to our thoughts, share, collaborate, speak each other's words before we know we have. Pond life chokes upon its own thriving. Savage are the dunking ducks who write nothing worthless and yet that 'nothing' is ignored by every city gent whoever pissed against a tree. Sit upon this graffitied bench, rest your disappointment under this scabrous oak. There is beauty here research yourself there is poetry at your feet, a hurdy-gurdy symphony in the slimy fungus rings. If we rest long enough our red fanged hearts may eat themselves. The scrawny daffodil's burst into prayer. Please don't grunt so loudly, my own windbreaking flatulence is a natural response to your ugliness. Our sincere attempt at urban poetry has unearthed the buried bones of a divine muse, and look, pure white doves are carrying them away! In the city dump, God assists the raccoons with His large, clawed paws.