Will I permit or depart clumsily,
then eventually find or lose once again,
like those other missed opportunities too,
you were of course watching, right,
plainly lacking enough shame to turn your head,
am I honestly that interesting,
or are you really this inexcusably bored,
hey, why don’t you just rub against somebody else’s leg?
Running My season through the ground,
to spring as flowers or only more yellow foam,
dispersing either seed for the next trial,
fresh on your sunny window or over a hot dog,
begging under bees or flies in swarms,
evil and good sweating worry below the same bed,
kissing madly when the feet are finally clear,
ah, could we please swim in every ocean?
I glance left to feel better My thirds,
fit as the whole bleeding orchestra,
breaking strings, walls, and records,
change five tires, and still release a lousy flat,
make a tune which precisely follows their dance party,
now pump your heart across the coliseum,
hoping doubt equals a dirty knockout,
so, are you going to fold in a sea of canvas and drown?
Sharwrong's Song 