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Sign True

So, my best never my best ever friend
Got burnt all the way down to her roots
But she’s roaring back, just ask Goodwill
With a new attitude that her perfectly suits—
Don’t offer me flowers
Don’t offer me fine wine
Just be real for once
Show me a true sign
That I count as much
As the future you divine

Texted into the night and then called
Quite the fulsome love story
Ruined by a rich tortured soul
Oh, my poor Morninglory—
Don’t offer me flowers
Don’t promise hot dice
Just hear me one time
That I am worth as much
As this shiny Mercury dime

And so the night got enough old
For her to make her goodnight
So the story folded right there
My heart still wrapped up cold and tight—
Didn’t pledge her flowers
Didn’t promise her better days
Just want to be worthy
To share my humble love sign
That she’ll always exceed
Any future we’d dare to design

As It Will

Small people, little people
The Wind knows nothing of these
Big times, noble times
The Rains still fill the trees
Grand Love, Heartbreak
Discover your knees
One death, another last breath
Time passes as it will please

A month ends, a new week shines
No right answer calls
Newborn cries, an old lady sighs
A poor candle spits and stalls
Sun glows, Moon rises
Cold blusters thru the walls
A bell rings, the horde finds the access road
Time and midday traffic stalls

Little people, my people
Earthkind teeming all around
Mere races, many-coloured faces
Trying to keep above ground
Have Faith with Freedom to saith~
I disagree with what you propound
Singers spiel, Dancers reel
Look to what Music has found

Another death, one last breath
Time passes as it will please

Wrong-Sized Glass

Sorry, I know it’s the wrong-sized glass
but it is a pretty nice red.
we can crack open this bottle
or go for walk instead.
usually just down to the gulch,
it matters not how far,
or maybe off to the zoo
we can take my old car.
I just want to spend some time
and get to know you better,
even though my stupid old cat
won’t want to meet your setter.

So, I’ll put the merlot up,
since you’ve turned me down.
I really wish for you the best
and hope to see you around town.
the old poet saved the page
and powered off his computer;
tomorrow to try again
imaging the life of a suitor—
heartbreak, in crisp 64 RAM,
meets: “I yam what I yam!”