I'M Sorry You'Re Just Not My (Daguerreo) Type Poem by Ray Mesa

Writing poetry on sidewalks
and tapping this rhythm to the steps you walked away
Singing sonnets on railroads
and drumming / the number/ of tickets you bought

If touch became cure
Would loose grips become disease?
It must, because when you let go off me / I feel sick

Building high, The distance is short but I'll take big steps
and by the time i make it / alive or dead
I'd grown too tired to fall
so judge my attractions, I'd rather die then date the ever
ever ironic stop sign

Big in the top and skinny below, Her daddy can buy the ring
but can his heart afford the engraving.
I could never share a coffin with someone whose chests is so large but heart so small.

So pale me a color, as long as it is bright
and if you ever come and leave
I'll still shine.

though the perfection is limited to your keen / keen eyes on trial
Let it be told, your thirty days are up