On the next day which I believe was the third.
You seemed to change,
slowly I wonder what was heard.
My snoring, moaning flails throughout the night,
shouldn’t suffice,
though I don’t have to endure it and still come off nice.
Closer to the quest,
a yawn and slow contrived stretch can undermine the fog of forgotten dreams.
Screams coming with sunrise,
teams of predators flock to the fields,
greens and browns soften the reds,
rain helps the yields until saturation intervenes,
and its all been said before.

“The dead won’t knock on your door” and
that’s for sure a tangent,
from the top of a twisted head,
“That for sure is a tangent,
it comes from rhyming.”, he said.

Proposing a new relationship is always difficult.
Scrapping past problems dominates doubt.
A cry,
a shout,
(Primal therapy that’s what its about.)
patience can be lacking at moments like this.
I miss good times whenever its bad.
I miss the smiles when I’m feeling sad.
I miss giving when I’ve been had.
Now I cross a barrier, 
ignore any strategic implication and 
wave to you in play.
Its always the way to your heart.
Every day is a new start.
Every night a little death.
Love is best that way.
We never have to say it  but we do.
That time like always its so true.
One and one is two.
Until two together become one,
then the fun of it makes fun of it
and one and one is one.

Time for breakfast and the philosophy has already wasted any hope of creating meaning from the dream.
Water soaking bean grinds and enculturated grain is all we need to start again these rusty dusty brains.
We all put on our pants the same rings out from the past.
I remember disputing that one leg theory because of the boy.
Its so easy to roll upon your back and do them both together.
I wonder why nobody else thought of it.
They probably did but were afraid to admit it to their piers.
Afraid of tears, jeers and laughter for years, instead of cheers for felling another stupid saying.

Here’s to praying for a sense of humour.
Here’s to graying without a tumor.
Here’s to living without a roomer you can’t stand.
Here’s to holding hands.

So as we wander through our own creation let’s not be too distant to do some of these plans.

ThorbArt4u2c

 

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ThorbArt 4u2c @ Geocities


Copyright © 1997 ThorbArt
Last revised: Jan.20th, 1998

Sincerely:  

Douglas J. Thorburn

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