Piemtry

Did I say Saturday to Saturday? That doesn't make any sense. We aren't writing poems about Saturn. These are Sun poems.

Obviously I meant Sunday to Sunday. Obviously.

POEM #1

I haven't done this in a while
and it's cold outside.
Snow is coming,
fumbling in the dark,
I forgot to make it fun.
I forgot to make it new.

But the sun is always there, stupid!

Thick waves of sun inside,
rippling spontaneous touches
crafted with a joy
you can hold in your hands
that can show you yourself.
Illuminate the shadows
with an orange glow grown
from soft curves
shaped in a sphere for a second.

Clear away the clouds
to step outside
yourself and be a part of a moment
you leave a part in.

If you leave it all in the light,
there's nothing the dark can take.

Talk with the sun,
breathe it in and
say it loud.
Make it strange and wonderful and
you.

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If I could be a shape-shifter I'd shift my shape into a pentagon. Cuz it's the ultimate shape.

If you threw up on someone's shoes then before they got mad you could just turn into a pentagon. There's nothing they can do at that point. They're forced to submit to your superior will.

Question: if you could be a pentagon would you be made of iron or pretzel?