The words are flowing into paths
That flow into the sun
Taking whispering petals down
Playing and having fun
Amidst the Egyptian moon
That paints it all in gold
A beard has grown upon me
Now I’m growing old

They say it can be calm and dull
When the storm is nigh
Well then this is boring lull
Before the coming eye
The birds are silently impaling
Themselves upon the leaves
And a worm upon the asphalt
Suffers and bereaves

All are in silence laminated
Behind a buffer pane
As well as the unheard taping
Of the falling rain
drowned in dulling rumble
a cadence unheard
b
y the crashing waves of future
bearing empty words



the drunk smiling collector
next door is quite taken
by the rhapsody of didactic
talking that forsaken
whispers by the barstool
I hear my name aloud
But I am quite well deafened
To busy counting clouds