Sometimes the sad gallons of the moon
A tattoo of a trash heap
The sleeve of poesy rolled up like an ode
The sky
Was never where it was
The stillness you feel
Is the universe expanding
The measurements needed
For new windows in spring
How the mystery spends its gambols
Is ever after a just-so story
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naïve haircuts 
wow man, this has me re-realizing that this life might all be a dream of someone else and we’re all stuck in it……”how the mystery spends its gambols”…….damn that’s good. I had to look up the word gambols and then i was like damn that’s an amazing idea…..mystery leaps and that just-so story. i looked up that too and that’s when reality became less heavy on my back. thanks.
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do you mean ‘galleons’, Bob ?
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