The more concretely

you tell a story, the less --


you'll be understood.

There once was a someone from somewhere
Who stuck his malodorous thumb where
     The sun doesn't upshine,
     Then gave the thumbs up sign
To someone from some other somewhere.

I've got my rose-colored glasses on  
And skies in my eyes.  
I've got stumbling thoughts in my head  
And a few choice words (for you),  
Trapped in the back of my throat, (just for you).

I've been sitting at the piano,  
Staring out the window,  
Thinking
how strange it is... that;  
Well, blue is associated with sadness  
When the sky is so beautiful,  
Like you  
When you're laughing  
Because of  
Me.

We never really say "good morning", do we?  
It's only ever 🫂 (a blue hug)
We never really say "how do you feel, today?"  
It's only ever "I need coffee."

I'm trying to find the expressions,  
But the keys keep playing the wrong notes.  
It ain't right

Blue skies
Aren't empty
They hold
Clouds, resembling objects,
Always drifting, changing
Making me feel
I'm always free-falling
What if it falls apart mid-flight?  
Will we survive?

The sky has never been so blue
My vision has never been so blue
I don't think I was made for blue skies

I'm not an Obrina Olivewing butterfly.  
My blue isn't true;  
It's just the way I see light right now,  
A false perception
A state of mind

but I...  

I've got my rose-colored glasses on  
for you
just for you
My one and only
🫂

Blue

He is not a spy

and not a child, just silly --


with his secrecy.

Your eyes speak so pure,

in a clear language, your head --


does not need a mouth.

Possibility, chance, no coincidence
fate or god, but the outcome
of the self-learning program

in our heads, the decisions
lay already enclosed within us
as our future, our path

You came down the stairs
stopped in the hall
and looked at me

called unexpectedly
lovingly my name
said you

will get mail from me:
the promise that bound me
during your holiday

I looked for a secret code
in the text on your cards
and only found my longing

From getting used to your text
To getting surprised by your text
  Wait, poet, he remembers
But again if he did  he wouldn't have forgotten you don't like being left on read
Sigh if he remembers he would have known why you disappeared last week

Oh no he is not the first person person you told
So l guess diary knows the crax of story

But you made his favourite food
And you he told you how his day went
So much chaos, but you are sure history will have a replay
In 2 weeks max,
you told yourself you would ask him again

Check your calendar today sounds like right on time for a good story

Oh no poet its been over a month
Sigh
So over a month no hi,
You didn't ask how is he either
Why are you surprised by his text

He looks at the clock

and tells her something briefly --


A married couple.

The calls for prayer

freeze and fall in empty streets --


as sacred snowflakes.