Money

Money is the paper, for which

You and I devour each other

The white knight looked at me

Labelled me as an inferior

I caught the bug and did the same

To everyone I considered brother

Trees built on our collective grave

Laughed at us producing more paper

October Wind

O mighty October wind

What are you laying down

With your gentle strokes of fragrance

What answers reside in you

Those I cannot seem to understand 

As I lay these paper crumbs

Galloping in the air, riding your strength

A deep sense of wonder takes birth

I realize, the answers will be mine

The need to run is diminished

They were born in me, are a part of me

My anxious molecules. Her face,

Ever glowing is even brighter

This moment is in my hands

I clench it tighter and then I let it go

As you whisper softly, O October wind.

Stimulus

Homes can and will change. 

Ugliness is in the heart of the beholder.

Birds and crickets have all the music.

Real bed is the earth.

Wet paint has no friends.

Marking trees leads you to civilization.

Love has infinite definitions. 

Infidelity is bred in the basement.

Prettiest smile is unachievable.

Longing is art.

Science has spoiled sex.

Lost time is made up in grave.

Empathy is slow poison and so is oxygen.

Narcissists live longer.

Thinkers are late bloomers.

Thinkers are taking pills.

Friendship is the only pure relation.

Cigarettes kill and make you smile.

Music is your lover and wife.

Women have relapse with men.

Men have no rehab from women.

Entropy is increasing in your head.

Words are slippery and opportunistic.

She is beauty and wandering.

Writing is all about the writer.

And about longing for her,

A variable of mystical properties.