Burning the Midnight Oil

I've been writing the silliest poems. There very short and are usually written near bedtime or right as I'm waking up. Proof, I think, that my brain never really shuts down. I sometimes fall asleep thinking about all the things I need to dothen wake up and continue my internal convorsations. Either that, or that my subconscious mind runs wild at night when my conscious mind rest.

Have a poem:

Dear Mother,

Can you warm our cores,
so that we can free ourselves from our bidding layers

So that Spring can bring me hope and wash away my troubles,

So that your parks can turn green again,
instead of the muddy brown

So that summer can lull me to sleep at night

So that the boys can chase after me in my short skirts

Most importantly trhough,
 so that I can walk around my apartment in my undies!

But only if it pleases you can you do these things dear Mother,

...Dear Mother of all things green.

A la prochaine!