Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

I spent the afternoon as a bush.
Wondering what would pass me by,
if the bugs using me as a complex would find me strange.
If I'd be pollenated any time soon.
If I'd burst into prophetic flame and babble to a schizophrenic who saw god.

That's what you worry about when you're a bush.
For a week, or even a term.

It was safer here.
No mocking half-pregnant dropouts.
No half-hearted retirees.
No expectations, dreams, oranges, or blues.