ink spots and songs of dots

and very long-lived tones

I’m no musician, just a scribbler,

but could you sing me another song anyhow

let us have a circus seed

a pick me up

isn’t it funny how we all prefer

something different or the same?

A day of corduroy lace, misty-real

streetlight rain on roses

I fried in the sun

can it be that the day by day

is an imagination of intricate nothings?

happiness fell upon me the other day

as I shook hands with a stranger’s smile

Live each day as if it is the only one you have