we tip toe around the edges,
as we orbit and tilt.
we watch the planet wobble,
like a tossed coin thrown into
this well.
its a crazy dream, and its
bruised and bumped.
its a crazy dream, and its
making me ill.
we tip toe around the edges,
only to fall asleep, its the end
we are concernd with, not the
beginning or the middle.
and its a crazy dream, and its
bruised and bumbed, its a crazy
dream, and its making me ill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
oiling that open mind, as always, David. a twist in my sobriety, this crazy little dream.... care, GL