this is the side of me i want you to see
the part that skips stones like shooting stars
the side where i sway to the rhymes in my mind with a glint in my eye
this is the side of me i want you to see
where i laugh through the night
and dream through the day where we'll adventure through any rainy day
the break through to the sun on the silver side of those clouds so white
some times i feel talkative
and some times i feel negative
but some times the moon sets a little too soon
and there's no sun on the other end
well i look around and there
isn't a spot for me to go
so i go inside but ill try to hide
from all of you

Scotch at sundown.  Good cat on the chair,
And then green light I know
will be there for me in the bedroom.  Cars
And self mocking subjects with the fumes of sleep
not far away.  Paradoxically I think another drink will just allow the bottom of the page to become reachable...

What do the dots mean?  
“You know We know It's possible.  And maybe you can participate in this thought too.”  

Not wanting to carry on like a stony upward path near moors near Langsett.  
With a forgiving friend that runs as well.  
But not too well for me to fall behind in the chat chat chat of miles to go before I drink and miles to go before I drink....

A piece of bread to soak up spirits to their full height?
Not quite

And I'm always frowning always at the paper and at you
I do not mean to

You see?

The ****** rhymes they get in without me wanting (and also wanting)
The clever trite score of sound like sugar hit that ashames me after
Drinking down the self congratulation of a chime of words.


And there it is
The stone of end at the top and the last thing we might see

Before descent to all the rivers and the ferns and...

And words

His beautiful complexity is difficult,
Confuses me; my neurotic inner child
Wants to be beaten or serenaded,
It doesn't understand many-layered things;
His whispered confidences, less alienating
Than others, made me trust too soon,
And his atoms, more colorful than
His brothers painted-on coats.
My being turns all around his center;
My wheels to his drum,
My arc to his sun,
Laughter when he's coming,
Cries when he's gone-
Till I'm reduced-
Subtracted-
Done.

What rotates the wheel?
Consider kinematics
And not kinetics
The axis is the still point
Rejoice in the revolving