Will this life be too smooth
Or the rough of happiness
Caught in the throat
Till we too are on our feet
Whispering to stars
A few lines
Enjambed on a railroad trestle,
Idle words, spray-painted, like falling leaves
Forgotten by guitar.
Dusk hinged to departure.
Everything ducks for cover, including the moon.
Please consult the paperwork, I have been busy
Doodling stanzas, and chasing verses.