Hot Stove of Intellect

Damnit it's snowing again I spat

with a head full of intellect stemming

from stimming ahead of the headset output

stuck in warm dream imagining daffodils 

unable to persuade them to firm upward

to a evel where they can be palped 

as though pencil sketching their life into 

our lives they cannot understand no matter 

that there are reasons to locate lyrics soon 

to learn themselves awake to our scars 

and let go the drive to persuade each flower

to relax be born and live to be seen 

for hours in the dream lit sun beyond

spun stories thumbing their way toward life forms