september soon, and me again, once not twice in the middle of the week I'll stroll,
through a dense park somewhere,
thick with thieves and ill regard
water licks the side of my forgetfulness,
forgetting what once bit me whole leaving crumbs...
no tears salt the day, (too sour sometimes)
enough flavor to go around
the dizzy spin you've tucked me in
my favorite thing is:
that which has a little finger i'm hula hooping
in my sleep
dreaming a sturdy security i can take with me
when no one's watching
a quiet little piece i'll peel out and show myself that it's real
sometimes,
when youre busy making music between your ears and mine
that you can sing me to sleep