"pinging" poems
Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
*Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too*.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
when you would have thought that nerve had gone, worn down,
when you would have thought that sense was a nub, tuckered out,
given a well deserved rest, after all, it was the best of each of us
maybe a glow, flickering in and out, a summer sun between clouds,
the occasional pang pinging, radiant, radiating in forgotten places,
luxury good, can’t longer afford, once, given with a happy reckless
crazy how love stays with me, low grade infection, ready to spread,
bud by morning, afternoon full blossom, black wilt by next daylight,
can’t decipher, finally decide, these tremors make old age life worthy?
absent, but memorized slivers, old poems, drive by glances of places,
hurt like hell so briefly, double over, no one notices, so fast dispensed,
it’s crazy how love stays with me,
and it’s a crazy that tastes so good,
hurts so awfully good, so badly bad
perhaps that is why behind my back,
not to my face, they whisper, call me,
the guy, still crazy after all these years,
just still crazy after all these tears, or just,
still crazy
Jul 9, 2023
Jul 9, 2023 at 5:45 AM UTC
The pen shakes in my hand; to write these words
Sleep all day, sleep all night, doesn't matter
Haven't missed much, an empty conversation
Exchanged under this leaking roof in whispers
Slumping on the porch, watching it all drip down
Pinging off of empty brown bottles in the grass
Keeping time by your breathing, the rain pours down
As I hold your hand in mine, side by side
Puddles overflow, spilling their cloudy contents
Only to fill another puddle
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:04 AM UTC
There’s a sickness
or a ringing
in the early hours of night
and it creeps and creeps and creeps
till you’re begging for the light.
There’s a pinging, pinging, triumph
of wisdom in your eyes.
You have grown and now you know
not to take me by surprise.
It’s a slow infatuation
seems to ebb and flow with tides
or with the special flitter-flutter
of un-all-knowing minds.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
I’m lying down in the ground
as the sun shines its rays
right inbound
on me.
hounding me
(surrounding)
Without a sound
Or is there?
A ringing
or dinging
a pinging
maybe a constant stinging.
I wouldn’t know.
Could be the blood pulse
or the sea dulse wrapping
the seashells doing their sins
or
a pair of siamese twins
trying to
dance and
lance and
advance on my grave
(how brave! how brave! i hope they cave)
germinated spouts
and terminated doubts
with exterminated outs.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
I am in a *********
I know what you’re thinking
‘Really? You? Standards must be sinking’
But you see
My lovers guard me, they are my protection
On my left is Anxiety
And on my right is Depression
They both think I am…smoking hot
Like I am something worth fighting over
Both claiming my thoughts as belonging to them each
As though everything I learn is all what they teach
Depression likes to mess with my body as well as my thoughts
Running its sharp and callous hands over the flesh of my limbs believing I get pleasure from its touch
While Anxiety gnaws at my wrists like a rubber band ping, ping, pinging
As though I don’t have better things to do like living.
Three is a crowd
And we have tried breaking up
But Anxiety is clingy
And even when I change the locks it still manages to nit-pick its way back inside
Depression is so addictive and likes to hug
Wraps its arms around me and even when I cover my ears
I still hear it whisper it look what you’ve done
D and A are similar in ways
They both like to put me down, tell me I’m not good enough
And then hold me until I believe they have me picked me up
And saved me from killing this part of the trilogy
I am the last part
I am so far unwritten
The last piece of the puzzle
That makes up the picture
Of a self-destructive girl
In the midst of something she can’t understand
She has a nice smile though and a good heart
But the lovers are not attracted to that
Though they don’t mind ripping them apart
Until her lips are too battered to smile anymore
The ***** that once pumped double time is so unsure
Of itself it finds it difficult to even try
You know what, **** it
I can do this
I will break up with them
They have done this to hundreds of people before
And they’ll do it again
This is not right
This is not how I should be treated
I am a strong independent woman
I will not be defeated.
To Anxiety and Depression, you’re not getting custody
Not of this mind and not of this body
I am not letting you through the gate anymore
I will buy stronger locks
And not let you in even if you politely knock
There is no home here for you
You go hand in hand
Like young naïve lovers
Straggling for attention
Even under the covers
I will not call you again
We once were lovers but you were never my friends.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
Because I could not stop for Love,
She kindly stopped for me.
And I collapsed into her arms,
Cured then of being free.
In a golden carriage far we drove
Off cliffs and over rises.
Each time I felt sure that I'd died
But Love never lacks surprises.
And we passed Death along the road,
I waved but he would not reply-
I pounded on the windows gold
But he mutely passed me by.
For Love sat not with me inside
But whipped the horses viciously.
I asked her why and she replied,
"Love means no company."
We passed a church and, out behind,
A graveyard glowing in the dusk,
Two lovers' silhouettes defined
Beside a tombstone, clasped in lust.
We passed a darkened house and there
A lanky boy threw pinging pebbles.
And as the light when on, the air
Was filled with midnight funeral bells.
We passed a first kiss, slow and sweet,
Two schoolgirls shamed but still adoring,
And every time their lips would meet
A raven hoarsely tried to sing.
We passed a man and wife's "I do."
And peering through the stained glass window
Pallbearers paused their work to see
The other face of sorrow.
One thought gloats over all I see,
"When all is said and done,"
I muse in silent reverie,
"Love leaves you quite alone."
Because I could not stop for Love,
She kindly stopped for me.
And I will die my deathless death
For all eternity.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
I’ve tried really, really hard
to not look like I’m trying-
See? I am Super Girlie-Girl
for one night only.
Every detail attended to.
I’m even wearing kitten heels
for ***** sake.
(quite literally, I think)
I’ve gone for pretty…
(or as close as age allows)
... not at all scary.
I’ve no idea what we’ll talk about but,
so far, I’ve managed to say hi
and not stare at his hands.
Still thinking ‘bout them though.
I’ve seen him play guitar-
‘nough said.
He’s grinning and I wonder,
briefly-
If I might’ve let slip as words
some of these thoughts but,
since no one near by is rolling round on the floor
******* themselves laughing-
I think I’m safe.
He’s just given me the most beautiful flowers.
The deepest red roses, all half-opened velvety buds
and frothy white gypsophila.
(it’s one of those bouquets)
Closer,
almost burying my face in the petals-
they smell delicious.
That's done it.
Even without a context- that word turns me on
but now?
My brain is seriously misfiring.
Pinging thoughts and words and images around
like a demonic pinball machine.
Oh Dear God-
I hope he’s not a mind reader.
How long, do you think- can I stay
hidden here in these (delicious) flowers?
How long before I need to try one?
Before the urge to lick and taste and bite-
overcomes me?
That just wouldn’t be cool, would it?
Not on a first date.
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 3:15 PM UTC
The sun creeps through two small windows where the wall and
ceiling meet, small panels of light begin their saunter towards us
on the couch.
You’ve rolled over towards me in your sleep, and our legs are tangled.
Hot breath on my neck and chest, but it feels good. I’m cold.
I hear bustling and business upstairs, the sound of pots and pans pinging
and crashing together.
You contract briefly, and then extend your arms and legs like morning glories in spring,
a sort of early morning développé:
Oh my gosh, you say, I am so thirsty, rubbing your thumbs on your temples,
cradling your forehead in your fingers.
Rising from the auburn leather sofa, we approach the stairs
and have a hearty, stale laugh together before venturing upstairs.
At the top, your mother’s red kitchen is alive:
Peppers and onions sauté in a pan on the stove. She stirs eggs in an orange ceramic bowl.
Your father reads the newspaper, squinting even through his glasses. Your younger sister paces the hardwood clutching one single, black combat style boot, muttering about
her siblings taking her clothes.
Your parents say nothing to me of spending the night- your father says only Good morning, and
your mother, How are you? Can I get you anything? Offer your guest something to drink.
A wry smile shades in your lips.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
///
*Falling, easing, pinging over the night
the rain’s shadow,
throughout the horizon
running between she and me
The leaf has reflected the inclined light
dropping her tears from the flight
nobody has meant it to care,
though I am in fear
The gleaming days have gone
I have made my passion too done
but she may be quite undone
and the fire of spring has made me to burn*
*Falling, easing, pinging over the night
the rain’s shadow,
no more turns can’t green her meadow
As if the pale sky kisses to sorrow
The rains shadow,
throughout the horizon
running between she and me
falling, easing, pinging over the night*
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
And oh I ache, like a creaking door, like a rusty faucet pipe. I can hear all the blood running it's errands in the sides of my head, it's this bathroom, this ******* bathroom. I feel like the turning handle on a mall gumball machine, no, then I feel like the ******* gumball, and I fall to the little black crevice with door, and you roll me out and pop me into your mouth, chewing hard and your spit is turning blue and I'm getting softer and softer in your lips. A caged Ocelot, and all I have to look to for a golden tomorrow is the poster of all the colorful wildlife, advertising this sickness. This pinging on a metal ceiling. This brownness. But my posters are of a different pair of devastating blue eyes that I know are evil too, but I pacify myself with the thought that they are so light because they are pure and clear, not because they are cold and hard. I started crying in my sleep. And I wake up with the streetlight shining through the window from that ***** alley that I love, and my face is so wet and so pink, and I say it's better that I cry unknowingly than consciously. I beg and toss for migration and distraction, chaos, oh baby where did you go? You can't leave me here with loose pieces of skin and a sick heart. You can't pick off the bottles on the ledge one by one with a rubber band and some pebbles and leave me with nothing. All I've got left are some nail polish bottles, some concert tickets, a few empty backseats. Things are either so incredible and hopeful or so ***** filthy, like gas stations, like the inside of ovens, and my fingers are becoming calloused. I'm floating like a cherry in a ***** shirley. Oh come, with your fingers in my hair, and kiss me.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 4:37 AM UTC
that place with comforting as theme overriding,
essentials of dream, complex, shelter, cocoon,
which/whether, almost irrelevant,
if and or,
don't matter when you are at home,
light, fierce sun rays eyes filled,
moonlight stars invading one's composure
now!
time
to alight, feet on the grounding,
rain,
pelting, not an inhibitor to the poem
in me, its resonating drumming me up,
to a beating, a lyric, a thyme of rhyme,
fragrantly repeating in my head, home,
home is where the flagrant poems are
born, delivered by no midwife, from
the ***** of my entirety, all five sensoria,
commanded by multiple generals on
different battlefields, coordinating a
battle plan, exhale, attack, coordinate,
brain, eye, smell, movement, urgency,
taste, words gushed, light emitted from
the fingertips, you cannot write as fast
as required, you, self, afired, and afeared,
losses will be greater than expected, but
no matter when we carry the tide behind
us, sweeping the obstacle of ego, pinging
pain, the hesitation that collapses courage,
oh god, oh me, be brave, lead me into the
breach,
the hole, the aperture that will allow a totality
of me to exit, to escape, to compose, p r o p o s e,
the confines of my uncontrollable uncontained
unconscious natured being and fervent annouce,
on this day,
*this poem shall be
written in its fulfilling, exiting fulsomeness,
&
entirety,
and let me rise, raise up, lift and shout,
one more last time, like the first time, praise and glory,
hallelujah to the parts of me that gifted me this
poem in-the unity-of-unison, uncensored, un~
inhibited and finalized momentarily perpetual,
with an amen amendment offered up too all and to
me…
amen, amen, amen
and let us rise up to morrow and once more,
write up to ride to birth the essentials of my next
homebound
be-ing
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
Words typed in a haste excitement
Ignorant to the woman on the other side
Ideas attacking her feed
Uncaring of the broken pieces of her soul
Facebook pinging like a shrill cuckoo bird
Reality crashing like fallen jenga pieces
Instagram popping with pretentious new pictures
Eyes shutting the painful past memories
Twitter tweeting like a babe hungry for milk
Body twitching to the tune of ancient whistles
The virtual screaming all day of accomplishments, love and money
The self turning to final dust at the turn of this technological century
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
We live in parallel worlds,
you on your journey and I on mine.
We wander in our own routes
in separate paths.
So why do your words elate me?
Your messages are like threads
connecting points in my journey to yours.
We are pinging signals across boundaries.
Making sure we are travelling along the same orbit?
Side by side, and you’re still with me?
Does that assure you or me?
Because though parallels walk side by side
they’ll never meet.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
Your chest is made up of solid marble.
I am spent,
Five years I've chipped away, slinging picks and sawing dust off of your breastplate
I hear wings flapping against your ribs but I cannot free your bird's heart
It is too small and it is growing weaker
I took your temperature with my palms and nicknamed you Arctic
You were my Alaska and I made thawing you my meaning
Five years I've wondered why we work so hard at what we can't have
You're cold as stone and I'm losing my patience
So I set aflame your collarbone and poured gasoline over your sternum
Sat back and watched the fireworks pinging off of your chest hairs
They glow blue in the evening
You're blue and I'm freezing
I'm moving on
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
My soul married yours long before it told the heart,
That was your secret gestures, it had been concealing
And shy alphabet letters formed our non-linear talks
On which ancient symbols were awakening with the news,
That my rapt countenance longed to behold only you.
And in Morse code, my riotous pulse was pinging,
In tiptoeing tiny steps, toward your smile-fragranced planes;
With small sips of blind and drunken-wheeling wonder,
On Adirondacks of time, I finally met your gaze.
And together found, we were writing the same vows;
Our fingers following a bright-feathered knowing,
And scented blooms of flowers knew your older names;
And avalanching comets swept clean the turgid dawns.
Then the seeds of forever were pocketed in your breath,
Wreathed by stars, and saved for hidden yearning.
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
The emails have not been kind of
Late –
It’s not sadistic publishers
Or die-hard groupies
(well, mostly not)
No it’s people getting in touch
Wanting a taste of the good stuff
Their mouthful of meat
What they believe is theirs,
A weight I should carry.
Sometimes it’s about poetry,
I only wish more of it was –
But mainly it’s people
With nowhere to turn
And no thought for my situation.
I try and assuage their grief
But it’s no good
I cannot do it.
One day I can take no more,
I am staring at the ceiling
And I hear the telling ping.
I hit delete
It could be Jesus gone viral
But I doubt it,
Even He knows
I’m past saving.
Then I know it’s a diehard,
My phone begins to make
Continual pinging noises;
An ****** of woe.
The buggar then begins to
Ring.
I could fling him across
Main Street
But I only bought him
Two days ago.
He’s not worth it,
And goes away,
Before I can blow.
But sure enough,
There is no peace for the wicked:
Beep, beep
Ring, ring
Ping, ping
I picked it up, primed
“What do you want?!” I bellow.
“Oh... I’m sorry Mr. Hinton, just
To let you know this is Nurse
Georgia, reminding you about your
Appointment this Friday?”
I told her I’d be
There for her.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 10:44 AM UTC
White knuckles, clenched
ping-pinging on textured glass.
Unfazed, he turns his cheek,
followed closely by his deaf ear.
So I stay
stuck, hopeless,
tugging on some hem,
with a relentless, gut-twisting
hunger to be acknowledged,
to be comforted and cradled,
to be lulled and hushed—
pleading him
to poke some holes in the lid of this jar.
I used to oxygenate
my blood so beautifully—
flush my pale skin to pink, press it against yours,
and breathe.
When I had air, I used to inhale so deeply.
I used to live.
I used to conquer.
I would wake myself before the dawn,
if only
to brighten his dark corners.
I used to breathe before life in this jar.
I used to catch his glances and
celebrate as the reason for his smiles.
Before life in this jar, I could reach him,
and he would reach me.
He would pick me up in his smooth palm and
hold me in my place in the sun.
With warmed cheeks,
I’d kiss him softly on the forehead
and thank him in wide, grinning whispers
for the lift.
Before life in this jar
he would never find me
gasping for the strength to
make breathy apologies simply for existing.
He would never find me enjoying
such a slow motion asphyxiation
like I do
as I live life
in this jar.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
There's sounds around me
but they're almost muffled,
distant...
My brain is louder.
Thoughts bounce around
All too quickly
Like a ping pong ball
in an old arcade game
Up. Down. Back and forth
To every side
Hard to keep track
Of which way the ball
Is going to go next
Swirling around all the knobs
and fancy buttons
Faster, and faster,
Till I can't keep my eye
on the ball anymore,
Or gather which thought is which,
And suddenly, the ball falls
All too quickly
Through the little space
at the base of your game
The base, of my brain?
And I lost my thoughts,
the ball is gone
What was I even thinking..?
But the game starts up again
Right away
Before I have time
To slow down my brain
Or shut down the game
A new ball
With new thoughts,
Ideas
My fears,
And desires
Too much paranoia
And fabricated scenarios
And some other *******
that makes no sense
Cause the ball is bouncing again
In every direction
Pinging,
and dinging,
With all the flashing lights
And funny little sounds
That no one else can hear
Cause the game is in my head.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
I’m sporadically pinging
bouncing off mental walls.
Take a deep breath
In and out.
Doesn’t help at all.
My mind is racing
100,000 miles a minute.
Looking at street lights
out library windows,
burning and bursting with
anxiety.
This structure is crumbling into
anarchy of the mind.
It’s about **** time.
My mind forgets
about reality
and remembers
the
worst
possible
scenarios.
The world stands still.
Figuratively,
of course the world is still spinning on its axis.
I can feel it in my bones.
Constantly in motion.
The law of conservation of energy states,
“That energy can be neither created nor destroyed.”
Therefore, it must change forms.
The mind is a powerful tool.
A powerful weapon
against oneself.
There is no way of stopping
what is to come.
The paths get wider and I stay the same.
It’s all in my head.
Nothing is changing.
Everything is the same.
In a world full of atoms
we are all in this
til the end.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
I hear pinging
My elbow cracks
She rests on my shoulder
and I dance with the future
Mallets are our feet
and our steps still ringing
have left me swooning
for your every arrival
under my breath
I sing these melodies
certainly they can't go on forever
but how long before then?
Kiss me to forget the past
and remember the present
I dance with the future
because she's a curious girl
You trickle your presence
right through me
until I am here wishing you were too
still
it's not to far
and you worry too much
Kiss me to let go of the future
and remember the present
As we connect
I'll show us a thing or two about passion
Still shy while you shouldn't be
so I give it time
and the present starts to forget our names
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
TUESDAY Aug 9 2022
05:59AM
(for you)
*silent alarm trips me up into a dawning at with a five o’clock
wakefulness, (‘woke,’ cancelled) that comes with morning daylight,
this is the likely culprit~catalyst, for the sky is traced,
blending multi-palest shades of whitening blues,
crowned by toppings of baby orange + pinks of faun~sun arrays*
*an hour prior, my 1st day-view,
is of mine eyes popping corn open to Peconic bay waters,
waves moving actively, not yet rascal-frothy winded,
meanwhile the woman*
*an hour later deep dreams of what I know not,
but rumbling and mumbling
and noisy shuddering combinations course through her frame and
whatever turbulence she’s experiencing is plainly nothing good*
*my apriori
training kicks in and a tender embrace and the be-not-afraid caresses work quick, restore her own waves to a comparable calmer current*
*now, she sleeps peaceful, breathes in easy quiet as I, writing, memorializing the moment, all else can wait, and Tevye’s prayer~
memory comes pinging, re the powers of it who makes all via a
“vast eternal plan,”
*crinkles my smiling eyes and my fingers begin to radio-receive the signal of dash dot dash of words you currently are reading/imbibing
something unknowable raised me up
amidst the all-quiet of the first watch,
thus I, was snap ready to ease her troubles, at the very first moment…
<~>
now I am cellular~level conscious of witnessing and feeling
each of the trillions upon trillions of minuscule defractions
of light bendings that will populate, articulate,
the entire world’s rolling day,
give them to me, please,
the causality source of millions of minor miracles that will go unobserved, unrecognized and unrecorded
I rise from the bed needy, urgently seeking them,
your adventures, their earthquake interactive tremors,
the raw minerals of what will be all the future poems of our lives,
but, first,
coffee.
06:49AM
Shelter Island, N.Y.
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 8:19 AM UTC
Metallic pinging behind my right ear
Reminds me
That this
Is the first quiet moment
I’ve experienced all day
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 2:42 AM UTC
an aisle seat,
my choice,
I get to watch
Noah's children
board one by one
it is a miracle!
I swear the plane
expands
cause no way
we young fools all
fit
in this
silver cylindrical sliver
chamber of
aliens, skinny jeans, needy for haircuts,
wailing babies and kids
the captain says its time
to pull away from the gate,
pull together, hold hands,
pray for our deliverance
from turbulent winds and
mechanical malfunction
and the sundry ways fates
render us asunder
when next we see safe port,
dry land, nobody knows,
but this ship, a prayer,
built of titanium prayers,
this ship is earth bound
bringing home the lost children,
our return flight,
pinging bright
the signal of our existence,
to ease the brow of those
who mourn our premature departures
the stewardesses lead us in prayer:
*"Georgia, Georgia,
No peace I find,
Just an old sweet song
Keeps Georgia on my mind"*
this is my happy ending,
this, my happy days,
I believe with perfect faith,
you and I will be reunited
on a dock by the bay,
perhaps even the one
beside my real name,
the hour when the ship comes in
June 6th, 2014
NML
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC