by the window sits
collecting drops
of day sized thoughts

"its all in the angles"
discerning dusk
decieving dawn

breaths yellowed
lampshade curve
like a hand
turning the sullen
knob
the skein of veins
like the beauty of
lace

"designs of fortune"
your tea leave taste
that lingers like rain
falling in its haste

Notwithstanding the angle of the arrow
Pointed towards Loved...
One who is too much of a narcissist
and egoist,
Incorrigible to the core
Is audacious to call some poets ,of yore

One who knows no poetry?
That’s for sure,

How in hell, Loved produces
A gem off and on,
One can’t be too sure.
But the best chiseller
We have met,
Is our dearest friend,
We all know…

I've got myself this, "theory"
a crazy notion, my mind voluntarily, had;

I consider all things to be mathematical
and if they're worthwhile you'd best learn, to add.

Just total, all of your blessings
and, your sorrows you'll have to subtract;

you'll then see, a much clearer picture
that life's good, and that that's, a grand, fact!

You cannot add up all, your worries
for to add up your fears is not right;

Once I saw a man in a suit knocked down by a car
He went rolling along the road,
one shoe went off another way.

He rolled into a sitting position,
he had a small package in his hand.
He raised it to his ear and shook it.
Then he said fuckit
and fell over and didn’t move any more.

So sue me,
I laughed.