plenty more on that beautiful head of hers she’ll never even know it’s missing

sparks fly when you put a couple forks in the microwave too

peering into your eyes i am trying to understand you hoping to know you a little better with each glance when the world is mad

walking down Rundberg a gentleman of the homeless junkie… approaches me from ahead “hey mayne ima be hones wischu

still he saws at the legs of his Steinway old habits only die hard so he tickles the ivory cigarette hanging from his lips

dying to stay in tune they rattle eagerly to play one last song

stuck out on a ledge with no stairs no ladder and no one to catch me

i would never say that Rock N’ Roll saved my soul but i will say that it helped me figure out what

squandered precious gifts laid down for worthless fortunes when men turn soldier

when you’re going down the momentum is compelling to the point it almost overwhelms you at the bottom

tailored finely to be worn proudly on the dance floor on the moon over top-shelf martinis over the rainbow

i would be excited to hold it tickle its little belly and watch it laugh if it cried i would search enthusiastically

some nights I talk to them because i have no pets and i am alone i make promises “tomorrow we will go for a walk”

i was born in a basket of apples out of place from the start always berated by questions like “where is your stem?” “why are you so round?”

regret of the clock once wanted to be a watch even time gets lost