Sunday morning
Yesterday’s cigars smelt like him
Bold
Specific in their smell
...
The only one
Who sees right through
The fake grin
...
Life’s web is spun
Yet once again
Going different ways
...
Walking down Tottenham court road
drinking a pint of cold milk
eating fresh wild strawberries
skipping merrily
...
He alleged
To be awestruck
with the colors of sand
...
Sit Beside Me
Hear the raindrops
Penetrate the ears of trees
...