I need a nice rug that I don’t care about
Vacuum up this dirt
so there’s no more sweeping on saturdays.
That only leads to flipping fluttering thoughts.
I’ve always seen who is who they seem.
I don’t read the paper, it only plays with my dreams.
Am I to believe what I was told?
Is any of this ever going to unfold?
Have you ever loved a woman so much
you know you should leave her alone?
Dustpans, like us, don’t do what they’re supposed to.
Leave a little mess behind, it’s fine.
You say hard things aloud and everything softens.
Wish I could live in my skin more often.
Waiting for love to drop in a frost bitten orchard
feels like living with this mind, and it’s torture.
I’ve got enough mind of my very own.
I swing for fences when opinions get thrown.
I’d like to throw my phone away.
I’d like to have my very own day.
With more sleeping.
With no sweeping.