The rhythm beat of sax floated
over from the canopied jazz club...
It always happens
on an average day...
The fly was trapped
Held by those silver threads...
The boy in the house with the blue
door buys nail polish at the corner store...
I am
a pendulum...
I am here
there for here is an extension...
The darkness may be heavy,
And you may want to atone...
It’s okay. You don’t have to say another...
*another song of sorts, written in prose...
Where are the meter writers hiding at?
just hit me with a poem in iambic...
They were there to rescue me,
and you may ask, what from...
At dawn, thrushes and finches
decorate her windowsill...
I listen to your signal -
synthwaves on a sailboat...