Friday, December 1, 2017

Low Ceiling


This is the extent to which the muse has grabbed me this morning. As is; bit of a tweak toward bluer. Reminds of a Cummings poem from teenager days...

o by the by
has anybody seen
little you-i
who stood on a green
hill and threw
his wish at blue

with a swoop and a dart
out flew his wish
(it dived like a fish
but it climbed like a dream)
throbbing like a heart
singing like a flame

blue took it my
far beyond far
and high beyond high
bluer took it your
but bluest took it our
away beyond where

what wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go

No wind. (Yeah - about a kite!) The sun rising. Quickly burning off.
LOL Inspired by Cummings and Yeats, I did once write poetry. Blank verse.
It was usually to a girl. There's no such thing as romance anymore.
What is it? Two dates and you owe me a sack session? I wouldn't know.

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