A canary flew
in my
window and sat at
my desk with
me.
It said,
who are you?
I replied,
I'm a base
poet that's been
dropped on
his head by life
a few times.
Eyes like a
kicked dog, and a
beard that doesn't
grow straight.

It chirped like
a Bach concerto, and
said,
ah yes, we are
all just dead
birds at the
bottom of a cage, tiny
lice crawling through
our eyes.
No song.
No light.

I said,
you're a strange
little fellow.
And we sat there,
like that, waiting
for 6:00 am
so, I could make
a beer run.

I lie and distract myself
to avoid confronting the truth
and avoid the pain
that I am lonely and afraid

𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑚𝑒...
𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒
𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑒...
𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠;
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓  𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠...

In evening of summer
a change appears.
Cooler breeze is coming my way.
Looking at trees I feel thankful just to be.
Colors so soft taking all sharpness away.
Making me want to hum a silent song.
Watermelon leaves next to olive green and beige all going to the golden gate.
In this transition time of trees and leaves
it’s good for humans to realize
that autumn season
is like autumn of years.
Coming to the eve of our lives.
Life in pastel colors, softens the mind.
Going towards hopefully golden times.
Live well.




Shell✨🐚