I believe.

I'll go back home.
Acknowledge to my baby that I did you wrong.

What a summer!
As it feels as if it's lasted twenty years, I find myself
feeling worn, aching head, without knowing why.

Still seeking; they say I'm twenty-two.
Let my heart paint the color between white and black.
That's what the neighbors been talking about.

I find myself kneeling in prayer, looking up at the splitting
sky, I can see the imagination of the passing stare.

Oh the waters cold.

Who do you seek out for the answers to your questions?

do you still ask questions?

Why?
Ho hO. I see you still have your sense of humor.

Yes it's gotten me out of some tough binds, you see.
You'll find me laughing from point A.
too B.

I hope your all-alright. I hope you're entangled
in the heart of the web, with your arms outstretched,
those palms of yours upturned and warmth; oh I hope
you can feel the warmth.

I wonder at your personal philosophies, I'm curious
if you think too much.

Do your knuckles ache from a life of toil?

Is your liver bruised because of a bad break?

Can you close your eyes and face the mirror,
try,
tell me what you see, is it honest-y?

No fear
No envy
No meaness.

Charlie says time is life,
and katzenberg says money
makes the tick tock in his clock.

I can hear it with each passing presence.
Tick-Tock.

There is movement in silence.

I've learned to listen since our last palaver.
I'm a grown-up-bup.

How is it to be yourself; when you've forgotten
the story?

Try, you'll remember, you know, you are.
That's what she told me.
I could hardly disagree.
Have you any poetry?