SOMETIMES
Sometimes I get burned.
Sometimes I get to hold
the torch. A midwife at
a witches' Sabbath gets
no better. Yet. I am tired
of being ignored, and of
living alone with this sleep
and exhaustion. Can't I get
anything right?
-
Hollow rods, and endless
laters; shattered dreams and
overdue payers and thought
purveyors. That lady, with the
opal ring on her finger, I've
already crushed her hand.
She won't be back any more.
-
Like the weather in the
changing sky, I've altered my
moods to match lots of things:
My own rain can change to
sunshine in an instant. Nothing
more magical that that. Skybird,
skybird, wear my hat.
No comments:
Post a Comment