just like a woman

woke up this morning in a funk, half drunk.

took a short walk around the corner past parched flowers ignored by striped suits and
high heels, and paused to sit on a bench in the park.

the leaves were newly budding on the trees and applauded a light spring breeze which hurried by, bringing with it a light misty rain.

and the clatter of light traffic and bicycles coasting graced and tickled the inner lobes of my ear with their hums.

and i sat and wondered about the worms squirming in the patch of ground directly under the outline of my bare feet, splitting in half and finding themselves, later on, becoming whole again.

breathing in,

and out,

the subtle whistle of a frisbee in the wind became the most wonderful ever, and
so it was as well, the witnessing of a shaggy wet dog

shake himself off in a moppy and familiar choreograph while

children danced in soft rainbows.

i think it's lovely to think of how many words are read at mid-day, all that inked paper bound tight in leather,

all those words written by sad lonely souls at lamp-lit desks in early hours with
empty glasses full of ice, still

all set to melt, no drop of whiskey left.

i think of all the most perfect words in the world like

pants

and the word discombobulate.

teeth.

awful, and thwarted.

and the rhythm of the word lavender.


in the coffee shop, when its right, the word dope.

among may flowers with the sun warming my pale skin, i am burdened with
frustration and sadness:

there is no word which can contain you.