I pick dandelions
in the early spring
when I think of you
She loves me . . .

I cut the rose blooms
in the summer morn
And I am pricked
by the remembrance of you

I walk in the autumn gold
as I shuffle with the agony
of the memory
Yes I do

Now in my winter's demise
I wrap the cloth of your smile
around the cold heart's desire
that I once had for you

There will be no dandelions
this spring
No roses this summer
No leaves of autumn's color
Without the smile of you

In a field
Turn round and around
Until the sky becomes the earth
Until the wind becomes
The motion to carry a thought
Until love moves at the speed of sound and rests upon a star
And falls on solid ground
With a blanket of the heaven to break its fall

I sit on my bedroom floor,
Sweating,
Contemplating chopping this mop from my skull.
Watching my strands fall to the floor,
And writing each one a four-chord goodbye song.
The junkyard dog alive in my back pocket
Whispers things like "he'll never love you anyway".

Now I've got
Blue hair.
Are you
Still there?

No, now you're dropping acid on the mountain top.