Her recumbent silhouette
       suggests a resting cello,
Reinforced by two-tone robe
       with maple-cedar sash,
The relaxing redwood deck
       reflects her sleeping shadow,
Resonance in light-dark notes
       —mahogany and ash

Her adorning muted hair
       evokes the Polish horses,
Rosin dusts the frog-tip leash
       from gold and silver tail,
A lamenting solo air
       reverberates with losses,
Transposes down the Saint-Saëns Swan
       into a minor scale

The veranda’s cypress pine
       protects a tiny surface,
Imitates a child-sized shade
       to stay the waves of pain,
The descending water drops
       engulf the resting cello,
The air cries, “They are gone now”
       and so, we let it rain

He said,
Oh my god it's ****'s enormous!
Looks like it fell
Off of a brontosaurus.

She said,
Look out love,
It could knock you down!
It could quite easily level this town,
Glass and rubble all around.
My god it's gonna **** the town hall!!!

Chewits
advert late 70's.

Love is the waiting room
They give you something to do
You don't have to complete it though
That onus is on you

Love's the chastisement
They give you a talking-to
Demand you mull
And weigh yourself
Well BOO HOO HOO HOO

Change your name
And I'll give you the world
Relax your neck
And let Rewards unfurl
It's just a name
Don't be so absurd
But david he said no.

A hole is a strange thing
makes you wonder, 'What's within'
A Spider, a Snake,
Sure makes for investigation if you are not 'freaked'
Hole in the fabric of space
Lets be honest a 'Black hole' can swallow 'Everything'
and yet it can spit you out, and probably did.

Yesterday, I spent time with an elderly resident;
Jean, who is the ripe age of 103,
She has been dreaming of dead relatives,
And as she talked, her face shone with pure glee;
She'd spent the night communing in Heaven
Which brought her joy; the picture of eternity.

So sweetly said,
So neatly done.
Just a brushing whisper,
a tender kiss on the ear.
Tilted head,
Hollow and soft.
So studied.
Not mine,
But for another.