wrong statuses or retired apparatuses
i am hunting for meaning in this lake of fire
your gardens of wonder are filled with beauty
but rust is the color of your tablecloth
i shudder to think that love comes so cheap
she is a breath of fresh air
and i am all hair, teeth, songs and fingernails
she is a fragrance in the dawn
a herd of horses thirteen strong
she is the trickle of a gentle spring
and i tread lightly upon nothing
yet this sunshine is doing its task sublimely
and i think the grief inside my heart
might slowly be melting in the heat