SHE POINTED TO FOXES IN THE TREES
Except for the T-shirt with the bull’s-eye in the middle of the chest, she usually didn’t give me gifts, but I digress, Let’s do what’s best as these are  phrases of purpose proving that my streams of conscious fail , as  they fail to get me near, but this  soapbox is sincere

So though short  of certain clever, not now or never , Should I fear true  content , abandoning our love her planned intent. Love is An exotic condiment , with its fresh cut edge as nourishment. A Freestyle journey To stir our souls , Freedom within this creative domain must remain a sacred honest endeavor To  dilute cliche’, to strain mundane until the conversational melody is such that we need not explain.

We  could mold sophisticates into words that may somehow rebirth as lyrics. but we’ll go back to that another time, but first, why did I fear it? When I was in the forest that time, when she attempted a simple  rhyme , it did remind of that Spinner’s  song that’s upside down like howdy doody your clowns too , they’re all laughing at you and why were they even there and  didn’t say or stay in the middle of the road? I didn’t have no time to count the foxes hidden in the trees today and she didn’t have no time to be a decent person,  and the random gifts didn’t give me any lift.

That  was just her way of hinting that she was going away, like howdy do,  your clowns too? I don’t want them laughing at you. I don’t care if you’re on the side or in the ditch there’s no middle there’s no road when she left she left my mind on overload
Bobby O