Tone shifts. Different
listener. Tone shifts. At work.
Tone shifts. Be myself.

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Their moves mesmerize
with honed dexterity. Dance,
fly, spin, imagine.

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Along the canal,
we share a sunset dinner
filled with memories.

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The blacksmith hammers
away to create his art,
then sells it. Bang, buck.

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Shower, dress up, park,
meet and greet, drink heavily,
go home, drop, repeat.

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˙ɹoɯnɥ ʇɐ sʇdɯǝʇʇɐ
ɔıʇsɐɹp ʇnoɥʇıʍ ǝʇǝldɯoɔ ʇou
ʇuǝɯıɹɹǝɯ ɟo ʎɐp

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We shall be older,
wiser, with worries and grand
plans, when next we meet.

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Wing it, wing it like
there’s no tomorrow, wing it
till the cows come home.

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The guards lock up the
warehouse of misfits, unsure
if they’ll escape hate.

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Among artists and
dreamers, the ideas burst
like untamed fire.

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Good pacing works fine
until the end zooms up and
youcramsuperfast.

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The leaky rowboat
needs a bailout, but we sold
the bucket for food.

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Just because I don’t
believe in the Rain God does
not mean he won’t strike.

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Where once we kept our
deep dark secrets in check, we
now blab them online.

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Dead dinosaurs roam
within our tanks, combusting
for forward motion.

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