a song stolen
Somber are the tones of the porch-chime…
Somber are the tones of the porch-chime…
When I was Icarus on a banana-seat Schwinn…
Life is an esplanade…
So were the halves of one homeless man…
He sighed, “Unwelcome, yes, but I had to come…To beg of you your private shoulder…”
Hope has no mark missed more markedly…
Give in? They say don’t. And I won’t…
…it’s okay for my heart to have a few irreconcilable differences with my mind…
To decipher the whispering hieroglyphs hung…
The slow drift of sea can sink in sorrow the very heart of man…