Oct
15
Addicted
Cranford blues, tennebaum cordial
Oh I don’t see why you say,
my jacket too must be sand.
I dont deny ya babe,
It’s cost a lot to live fast.
Do you wonder if that
hat trick past the gorge
looks outlandish?
And Gatsby crashes in lines how bland,
Neither and poor the dearest nearly erased again.
In hollow hour after deport
the soul requests to
have no cell of civil war in self.
Habble-backin on the side strand,
given the runaround on sicker crazy.
Delila, pliable moment of peace,
we are humble servants to mote
of phrase while time moves
with your persona.
