There’s a dime in my mind recollecting a pain in increments too small to appreciate. There is a logical deficit and a negative balance that goes with it. There’s an abundance of heart but no soul. There’s change to be made, but never enough to trade for a token of faith. If you could afford the time to see me right now I’d probably crack your head open like a broken gumball machine and take all the red ones. I’ll write you a post-dated check... for a penny ...for your thoughts.
You are a reaching plant wanting sun and straining for a chemical reaction. Your food is what happens on the outside and your breath gives life. You are more than just some green, you’re a sugar mamma with big apple lipstick. You’ve climbed the corporate vine and you’re throwing me a line. You’re lush like the tropics. You’re no vegetable honey, but everywhere you go you’re tossing salad. When your wheat is ripe you pluck the heads and spread your bread. No, you’re no veggie baby, but you spread through the roots. Your branches are snug like a multi-national conglomerate bear hug. Sorry about the animal reference.