i'm scratching my head again
as i twirl a pencil in my mitts
like a freight train on a twisted track
coasting to its wreck
somewhere west of tennessee
perhaps in tulsa
by a ravine
come to think of it
i scratch my head a lot these days
like a symphony gone terribly wrong
all bells and whistles in fancy disarray
no strings anywhere
just an old woman playing a park bench
at dawn
signing scrap metal autographs
knee-deep in geraniums
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment