Rot

No grass should grow here, yet it is greener than green.
With enough wealth and persistence, and defiant disregard 
An artificial yard grows wonderfully.
The rotting wafts of life plucked from the sea
Smells of death, plague, and oceanfront property.

Star

It wasn't planned
Or mapped in an algorithm.
How simple to be a rebel
With your look and temperament.
Must be nice to be so understood.
I write poems because they are spells too,
and in this one, I have forsaken you
Or I have won 
(I forget which one)
But in the law of three-fold, I start again at zero
Drinking red wine from a jelly jar
Each word is a mile closer to the nearest star
(From there I'll know where you are)

Listen

He said: You're over-selling Chaucer
She explained her point again.
But his ears were filled with his own music
And her tone was too mild to convince.
Her words were gentle and considered,
Fervent and eloquent.
I watched my pen write to paper as she went on
To record her brilliance.

Next

Trees whisper secrets

As their branches bend
Limbs victim to the coaxing wind.

Starlings in their magnetic formations

Drop from the sky 

As if they'd forgotten how to fly.

Aluminum bins carry human remains 

Sent to float forever 

Into Outer-Space.