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