"if i had a hammer, i'd hammer in the mo or ning"
hurry if there is something you can do
"...when the lord gets ready, you gotta move"
the song of the morning presses in
fog over the chugging tugboat outspirational
serpentine red flags above the coach twisting twirling
diffused in light, dissolution glow
warbling crickets
beginning with the most flagrant selftalk
and ending with sword in stone concrete memories
these words spill into silence
the churbling of a thrush and skycall of
canadian geese
