Looking at
empty book shelves ,
Googling motivational reads,
Sweeping through right or left,
Barley,

Hanging on
to the dregs of past days,
Trying to feel,
Some way?

Remembering,
that I've always
Yurned for change,

Is it true , is it right ?
Does the moon always shine,
bright,

Happines washes over,
Like the misty trails
of high up tanks,
Jet oil,
Vapour,


to be
a bore,
Or a sheep,
Or to have worn out souls,
and smelly feet.

Once
I walked a long way,
To save spring time frogs,
From
worn down tyres.