knocking around
the ill and well-lit cul-de-sacs of the world
with a handful of blooming roses
wildflowers explode into view
like cutting a fig open/ into two
crickets shimmer like tambourines
like ripples in the river
i let everything i let everything i let everything
slip through splits in the melody
the grain exposed and innocent
now when will we
ever stop feeling terribly guilty
this day of work's got us incredibly filthy
you're telling me this week
we'll live from the fig tree
while the enemy blitzkrieg
there's blood in the sun,
we drink strictly
istrian wine
yeah. early here late home
stalking the halls like the ghost of a scarecrow
mostly i'm careful
but i'm getting that feeling
tonight i am feckless, reckless and reeling
there's a chair pulled
in and out of the guestroom
when guests come
and put back when they leave
i find this surprisingly stressful
(the enemy's everything)
your smile is successful
in wrestling this and many thoughts of its ilk
from the front of my mind to short memory's hills
and if i seem to be remembering still
i'll get my hat
and head to the cellar
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