Notice! Silence seems to have Taking over It's Sunday morning Am I the only one up Or even sober? Somebody, anybody Sing me a song A poem about cutting Would be better then none Surely some Poet Has pain to covey When you get home from church Write what you may I'll shoot you a heart Some loving thoughts HP is my addiction This is the cost .....................
love's golden. with such thinness, akin to wispy dew drop-covered spider threads, floating in air towards me. but I can't catch them since they'll break- what’s left of you and me.
i have had these bedsheets for a solid four years turquoise butterflies flit across a sky of white cotton embroidering trails in their wake
i knew them well - the loose thread that i definitely needed to fix (that i was never going to fix), the ink stain from a late night art project that, in hindsight, i probably should have been a bit more careful with
but now there’s you lying sprawled across them a new addition to this map that - until now - i knew so well and suddenly everything changes i am in uncharted, unfamiliar territory
I hear the sad procession slowly wailing Mourning jazz lightens the steamed heavy air How queer for them to dance that way Thunder roars on their own parade Acting somber tears fueled by bourbon on a worn out and too well known street It's beauty sadness and life ending this somber Way, but alas the 'Brella is show, no rain today