There's a still in the night, a tuneless moonlight. Just the I-need-you-and-here's-whys of snoring Gords and Cheryls. There's a heron outside, in violet light.
Me and the vivid girl. In our hammock to the stars. Staring into the fire before TV. The remote control's on Mars. . In the dope of the pigment. In a poetic state of mind.
I wrote unfriendly things, truly cruel. On the day that you were born. To prove that words cannot touch beauty. But I was torn. . I put it off, I put it off, I put it off again.
It might be late. But it won't be early. You got me to the gate. With time for a coffee. . It's gettin' late. Sounds like a departure. It's gettin' close.
"Do you mean the attack is routine?". A bird asked of a bird. "In this context, a concave nest. How do we learn to hurt?". . "Do you mean there's no variation?".
I remember a girl on her cellphone. Surrounded by her friends. Eyes flickering, she's trying. To smother a smile in her hands. . Is it someone for us.
It's only human to want to inhabit every feeling you've got. And more often than not let's take it to the nth degree. Here he goes, "Give me ten bucks and a head start".