There is a robot in my pocket,
it's smart enough to design rockets,
but just gives the forecast,
and knows all about my past,
it even works with no socket.

some of it did not work,
so added red , text, news
paper.

some of it did not work,
added bunting, torn
paper.

most of it works now,
memory plays a part,
when we look
to the mountain.

Old song, new seat,
up another gauge.

Open palm, right cheek,
the same rage.

Undereyes are ultravi-
briny lies or
welts of shame
gnawing from the inside.

Catch her in the alley
sparking up at night.
Mulling over what she said,
can never keep it light.

Five years, no change,
some new phase.

A new place, the same pain,
the same waste.

Everywhere
there's talent
indeed great talent
of very form
but sadly
so little
comes into
their true essence
for some reason
strangely unknown
to the person

just like
the fairest flower
being  unseen
with its petals
all blown
and strewn
by the wind
and drop silently
upon
some lonely
corner
to be
swept away
into a hidden '
drain-
ah, all such beauty
drowned
and has ended
all in vain!

Such loss
such grievous pain!