The buff flaunts his elements
in a dissenting voice.
Don’t go into the lake.
There were no survivors.

Stop kissing the moon
all night. Clouds were moving
away for the coronation
of the sun.

The windowpane was broken.
Somebody has jumped into
the audience for a
golden drink.

It was my abstract thought
to donate my grief to
unrelenting god who was always
sending a twister with daffodils.