took
tomorrow,
hoping today
would
look the other
way,
this old man’s
45..
flips all day,
any day
it skips, it
skips..
spin cycle
sick-
it
skips,
page one
rips..
page two
sticks to script,
time tripping
on loose
hands,
but
a drop
in sea of
man.
abstract
rhapsody’s
tricky
to
rhyme
believably,
naturally, certain
words don’t
work,
unglued brain
at work..
pressed to find
catharsis,
tulips planted
where my
arse
is,
rhapsody’s
a trying rhyme,
just wasting
time.
*inspired by Gord Downie Lyric
Blood Moon
Mary
spinning
solo
in
meadow
at dusk’s
kiss,
catch her
flash,
seldom fogged
by shadow,
face to
stars,
next to rusted
wreck
only gets
the
past so
far.
hands in the garden 