Back Home To Yourself Less What You Thought Was Love. Poem by RIC BASTASA

the flowers that you see
soon shall turn into walls
the bees are buttons the
skies are but ceilings of
a stone house and sooner
the stairs are but piles of
steps leading you to the house
of your own reality,

well, just let it out early
in the morning when hormones
are overflowing. Run as fast
as you can, take the deep breaths
and say your thanks to those
ferns and snails for now you
are back home to yourself less
what you thought was love.