to the same sound until you forget.
whirlybirds razorblade across the wind, sun invades the room,
forget
morning hums its continuous line.
there is past present now and oblivion
but you don't get to choose the melody.
lovers tend to sit alone
poets think they're poets when the morning's gone.
window's filled with roof tops
red descending friendly
you missed a murmur,
now my truth is cut in half.
whispers lie in feelings' deathbed
i tried tried tried to warn
now make up your best goodbye.
there is no such thing as a crow in the city
there is no such thing as color in the winter
enjoy the morning smoke.