They say he’s right all the time, it’s his art.
They say he writes all the time, must be smart.
He says,
Right.
I don’t know what I’m doing,
I’m just doing, I’m lost, I’m doing.
I’m just looking, not lost, I’m thinking.
I know there’s more.
It’s not right, this part.
He says he’s not right all the time, it’s just art.
Says, I don’t write all the time, it’s my heart.
He’s broke, a joker, can’t play poker and he knows
Nothing.
One thing.
Maybe
There’s no right.
There’s no right way for anything.
Wait for the right day and fly away.
Some day. They say
It’s all right in front of you.
You won’t miss flights if you learn to fly.
Heart’s handwriting gets handed down,
I was gonna fly.
I know you’ll fly.
He’s so smart, he’s right.
It’s just art, he writes.
Heart, he writes.
It’s nothing.
What I’m doing.

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