february. sunday. two more days. in search of a café. swans and seagulls. omega.

do not hesitate to employ every habit
i know you’ve been at it
much longer than me
the winter is fickle; i won’t give you trouble
walls turn into rubble
walls fill up the sea

february. sunday. two more days. fireworks across the water. school boys masquerading as soldiers.

for each little grape sprouting leaves in my liver
i ask - you deliver
oh what have i found
we’re watching the nationless torment the nation
such sweet celebration
such heavenly fun

february. sunday. two more days. mustard yellow mud. your crooked horn.