Cut, piled,

Ready to gather up.

Dinner awaits ...

Stuck,

Inside a hardened world.

Naked, and sad. ...

I’d live there.

Whichever apartment,

Doesn’t matter. ...

Old mystical stories say,

Heaven lies beyond blue skies.

I wonder if unseen trees ...

Soft, delicate, rare.

The magical freshness,

In Spring’s first green. ...

At the end,

Under this blue sky,

Despite every ...

One day,

He disappeared.

Just over there, ...

Another grey day,

When clouds drift by,

Unannounced. ...

Achy, bland days.

When holes and stains,

Are felt everywhere. ...

Peaceful, overflowing,

But devoid of people.

Like silent thoughts, ...

A milky galaxy,

Light years away.

Perhaps artwork, ...

Long time,

Since the bike felt alive.

Dirt and rust have grown, ...

Early May, and

There are mornings,

When it still snows. ...

Sometimes,

The last slice of a pizza,

Can smile, ...

Strange, that sunlight

Shining on a glass,

Can cast shadows. ...

An orange, Fiat 640.

Bright, sparkling, humming.

Adorned with flowers, ...

A golden, welcoming carpet,

For spring’s early morn.

Blooming trees, ...

Butterflies do sparkle.

Some even grow antlers.

They can smile, ...

Sometimes,

Doing the unexpected,

Simply doesn’t appeal. ...

Yellow speaks.

Sunny, smiling, bright.

Blue listens, as ...