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1.5k · Mar 2010
Derived From Beatles' Titles
Zan Strumfeld Mar 2010
While the yellow sun and the diamond sky
       come together to hold a revolution,
       the universe is sleeping

A little blackbird gently weeps
       "Hello, goodbye!" across the garden
       to carry the secret naturally

"Don't bother me, cry tomorrow," she said
       Oh, it won't be long 'til the end,
       magical mystery will follow the sun

Help! something warm is in the window
       it's flying through happiness,
       don't ask me why

Run for your life, dear rock and roll boy
       the continuing light will taste your slumbers,
       mother nature's son

Please, not a second time
       good morning, good day
       P.S. Everybody's got something to hide.
1.2k · Mar 2010
To Brautigan
Zan Strumfeld Mar 2010
I found a ***** in pennies
In search for a dime
1.1k · Mar 2010
How To Make A Wrap
Zan Strumfeld Mar 2010
***, cranberries, sunflower seeds:
Wasn’t it you who slipped through the door?
The floor creaking beneath your socks, you ignore the sounds.
That besmeared smirk on your face tells me you’re leaving but not soon enough,
as you slip into bed and tell me I’m lovely, you’re lonely.
Undress my shoulders and turn on the lights.
1.0k · Mar 2010
Marriage
Zan Strumfeld Mar 2010
****** ****** ******
she says
Shaking her head and dropping it to the floor
where a thousand flakes of water fall from her face

But it's just me
he answers
With a sneer grin that turned the faucet
Drowning the drum of her heart beat
589 · Mar 2010
Upon Introduction
Zan Strumfeld Mar 2010
Tell me:
I like the people that I see.
I like the way they talk with their hands
and close their mouths when they want to smile.

He runs his hands over his lips to quiet his excuses.
He opens the door with his eyes and tells me to leave
but I won’t miss him
because tomorrow will come where we’ll
undress by the brook in our suffocating absences.
581 · Jul 2010
The art of sleeping.
Zan Strumfeld Jul 2010
I wonder about you.

How your hair still knots,
or the small shape of your eyes in the sun.
Maybe if your hands are still soft. I'm sure.

You used to mumble so I wouldn't taste your breath.

— The End —