| 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! |