well, it wasn't enough
to just put my hands in my pockets
to warm my hands up,
i hard to *******...
and then...

   nat king cole: smile
vs.
       b. j. thomas'
raindrops keep
                 falling on my head...
  
a guy can plainly go
crazy...
        ha ha...
            
and there was me being
nostalgic
about sam cooke's
           woderful world..

oh endearing night...
          oh my my,
my own tonight,
      and the hours
with the zombies
of sleep...
            my and my and
all that could ever be mine:
a night, come to a breath
of my own exchange
of sorrows,
backed to fathom,
a return from sender
kiss...

               itchy fingers
imitating piano,
before the waited for crescendo...
like...
   like, there were meteors attached
to the flapping
of pigeon wings descending
on the one healthy foot,
and the other: pirate stump
cut-off...

            dot.

            plucked scuttle...
along an imaginary
        chess board of fates...
my dear, dear,
my head: high up in the air...
floating indifferent...
         colliding
with barometer,
clock and kaleidoscope,
with the almost near...
tear in technicolour...

      what would,
have, almost, mattered,
wouldn't it have?