Filled to the brim, an overflow
A lifeline on its string
One more makeover
In a garden, a serpent in my bed
Too little or too much?
it is never too much for the rain to pour
heavier than your worrying tears.
is it too much to bend and pick broken pieces—
of a heart when it isn’t made of glass?
I am tired of too many feet on these grounds.
Is it too much for me to want more
Is it too early to open my mouth so wide
Or are we to die in the loud silence
In a country where questions are not answered
Paulyn X Ruddapoet X Bose