| Billow-beast clouds. |
| Vibrant, bright like Spring.
|
| This is a turbulent drive, mixing bowl of good and bad
|
| Kooked by caffeine, Sky Wind Machine
|
| And the car absorbs it all — shake, shift, rattle at me
|
| (We're both suckers for scenery)
|
| Should weather not match the mood?
|
| Conjure old anti-trust flaws:
|
| Run from blue eyes, shun blue skies the same.
|
| Simplicity, where’s the needle today?
|
| All stacks of hay…
|
| ~ Jan. 9 / 63 degrees ~
|
| Nonlinear thoughts on this linear road
|
| Bluster me. |
| Entangle — spider web spun
|
| ('Make hay while the sun shines…')
|
| We’re not victims here;
|
| we choose our way, hunt the game
|
| Chase to balance empty palettes
|
| But there are emotions… and relatives and…
|
| I’m relatively poor with social ills.
|
| (Voluntary solitude doesn’t pay the bills!)
|
| Finding balance, you’ll find, is that poignant, pointy cliché
|
| Stacked of the scale, kick the bale in vain.
|
| Simplicity, where’s the needle today?
|
| In… all stacks of hay. |
| Hey!
|
| Pop up unannounced, take aim!
|
| 'One Day' is today, and I’m on your tail…
|
| Fox and Field, crimson-gold (rich yield)
|
| Elusive… catch rest for the day.
|
| I don’t want replicated History
|
| Fired in a kiln of silence and insecurity
|
| But you find sometimes that you’ve worked so hard
|
| your perspective has been chipped away
|
| And it’s hard to speak the mind, when emotions don’t take sides
|
| Find the balance: Show don’t tell (are you still afraid of the pen?)
|
| We are the history of a coin! |
| We are an out-of-control grin! |