Meta-analyses Are For Papers

Grinding gears to make product

The prospect, confusing; what is enough?

I came to give/get everything I came for.

I came to see everything.

Don't be a coward

Don't be afraid

If you are scary,

Then I am brave.

Let me be the judge of what I can handle.

Give me everything; don't protect me.

Let me show you how I use it.

The mouth, twice the size of the body.

My Best Work

You haven't fooled me, 

Even if I am bewitched. 

I'm conscious, d. 

Even if my choice is ill advised. 

Volition, here, means I exert

A love that isn't deserved

Verb, or Noun.

Given freely.

There's some liberty

In feeling a little robbed.

Because I made it,

And gave it away.

Yes, I hoped

For something more.

No, I didn't get it,

But I did my very best work.

So Far.

Experience

This yarn is bumpy, and frayed.

Its tinge uninspiring, and gray.

Here, we press the foot pedals.

A wheel turns slowly.

It is coarse.

You might call it ugly.

Press, and guide

And turn.

Spin

It. 

The Words of A Friend.

You're beautiful, you know

I'm telling you so

Look at the laughter in your eyes!

Just a bit more;

Keep going, my love.

Your heart makes me smile

Persist. Persevere. Prevail.

Keep going, my love.

Close your eyes a spell.

I listen carefully for you;

Heartbeat a melody.

Exertion and acceptance marry.

The guests are products,

The church is a library.

But no one will give you away.  

Velveteen rabbits

Time to admit it, 

Time to come clean. 

That look on your face, 

Was meant for me. 

You don't exist,

And neither do I. 

This moment, an ignition,

A reason to try. 

If I clamor here,

And you do your version,

We might be real.

 We might get motion.

Velveteen rabbits,

You and I.

Come, love.

Come love.

We're real in the tension,

Fake in the day.

We're non-existent,

If we don't engage.

Ode to Tilling: Part Two

I don't take the flowers, 

But I watch them bloom. 

I don't uproot the trees by their stumps, 

But I pick their fruit.

From seed, to plant, to blossoming tree,

This strange earth, some reflection of me.

Ode to Tilling: Part One

I'm only here to see my flowers. 

I'm only here for the trees. 

I planted them, gave water,

Watched them grow from seed.

This land was never mine,

Though I looked after it regularly.

This land was not my own,

Though I worked it lovingly.

To take the flowers would now be stealing.

To uproot trees is theft.

Yet I'm standing empty handed,

Forlorn, speechless, inept.