contused
bruised
the sky looks
used up

the clouds are stacked like bricks
black against the horizon

I smack my eyes on the nearest one
and watch it break apart

they don't always
break

I've noticed that

not that it matters
the wind scatters me
across the sea of
the sky
and I die, not one
but a thousand times
and a thousand more.

confused?
well you'd think so
I know it's not so.

Every second second counts
third place is no place
and first place is a slam dunk
for the man in the drunk tank

but for the man who comes nowhere,
there's nowhere to go and
I know that is so,

Frank is a dear that would give a ram
for a sheep in wolf's clothing, that's
really a man

(had to put that in, don't ask me why)

there's a bit of Rhett in all men
who'd like to see Atlanta on fire,

but the cloud
allowed me through
to do what it is that a
sunbeam can do

one sunbeam
one dream
acorns and oaks
and a man who
smokes
filter tips.